Losing You
by Brat-Child3
Summary: After falling for Kyle, whose heart is already taken, playboy Kenny becomes the only link of communication between Stan and Kyle: The living and the dead. -Full summary inside-
1. Rubies

**Full Summary: **When a playful kiss has playboy Kenny falling for Kyle, his promiscuous desires start to wane. But Kyle's blatant feelings for Stan stop Kenny from pursuing what he wants, until fate intervenes, and Kenny becomes the only link of communication between Kyle and Stan; the living and the dead. How far will Kenny go to get what he never knew he wanted?

**Authors Note: **So I know the summary is vague, but if I put too much it'll take away surprises, and I like to keep readers guessing. It's more fun for all of us. :) Pairings... well... that might spoil some things as well, but I will say that Stan/Kyle, Kenny/Kyle, and Kenny/Butters are all pairings you can "consider" depending on how you look at the situation. It doesn't make sense now, but I promise it will. If you like any of those pairings then we should be good to go.

This will be done completely from Kenny's POV. And this chapter is pretty much like an intro, not the main focus of the story. I promise the whole plot isn't "Kenny's in love what should he do!" **To my knowledge, there has not been a fic like this, at least not in this fandom.**

That said, please review! I hope you like the start to my newest story.

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**Chapter 1- Rubies**

The thing about being a playboy was that you never thought about love. You thought you were immune to it, that you could bang anyone you wanted and you'd never feel any differently about any of them.

The very idea of love was amusing at best, aggravating at worst. I was always half way to insane with exasperation when one of my friends would fall under the temporary spell of a crush; barely able to stomach the starry-eyed, heart-infested note passing of the love infected any better than Stan could stomach Wendy's kisses.

_I_ didn't fall in love. _I_ didn't get crushes. _I_ lusted, and that was where it ended for me. The minute my spooge covered the stomach of whoever I'd been craving at the time, I was done obsessing. Case closed. None of that "_No one has ever made me feel this way"_ bullshit for me.

But I wasn't _against _love. It just didn't make any sense to me. Weak knees and heart flutters and Cloud Nine were equal only to witches and vampires and magic; the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, the dusty trunk in the back of the attic that you could never open because it didn't truly exist. No kiss had ever given me butterflies, no touch had ever reached my heart.

_Tch. Love_.

It made me snort.

Of course, I wasn't above throwing the word around a little to help me charm my victims. Though I'd never had to use that particular method, it was like a slip of insurance in my back pocket, mine to flash if I ever needed it. I knew people who did it all the time: Clyde, for example; Jimmy, for another. It had worked for them a few times, but they were no match against me. I was like a celebrity at South Park High, bordering on godliness in the eyes of my peers (and a few select members of the faculty, but that was besides the point.) I didn't have to pretend to feel anything for anyone. They were all too willing to surrender to my specific brand of temptation.

I'd realized I had this power early on, and I strengthened and fine-tuned my gift until I could successfully seduce both males and females of varying ages. I never had a preference for either gender, and I didn't have a type. Blondes or brunettes, tall or short, fat or thin, preppy or Goth... my taste was consistently inconsistent. I could find something desirable in anyone. It was all a matter of who happened to catch my eye.

But I did set rules for myself, standards and shit. I didn't bang just anyone whenever the mood stuck me, or my sex partner count would be swelling somewhere in the hundreds. It was a sport for me, like a hunt. Anyone in an exclusive relationship was off limits, and anyone other than that was fair game. The guys were a bit more fun because, other than the occasional flamer, they required more persuasion than the girls, who practically swooned when they saw me and squealed if I acknowledged them.

But even then, I didn't sleep with all of my toys. I played with them, teased them until they were begging me to take them. Sometimes I'd grant their wish, and sometimes I liked watching them burn with lust too much to quench the fire I'd kindled. It all depended on my mood.

The most golden rule I'd set for myself was that seducing Stan, Kyle, and Cartman was out of the question. Too much could be lost if the fragile material of our friendship was soiled. No night of pleasure was worth the price I'd pay if things went bad. They were the only thing in my life that had any value to me.

But God had a peculiar sense of humor, and God apparently thought it was funny to give me best friends that were the definition of fuckable and then dangle them in front of my fucking face. Tonight, my self-control was being tested in the most tempting, sickening way.

"I fucking love you, Kenny."

"Yeah, Stan, I know you do," I replied, amused at the slur in his voice. "You've reminded me about fifty times now."

"No, but seriously," he drawled, clutching me tighter. His tongue sounded thick and lazy, compliments of the large and expensive abundance of alcohol he'd consumed. "I fucking love you, man. I _really _fucking love you. You're the best. You're the greatest."

I snickered, stumbling a little when he lost his balance at the top of the staircase.

We were at a mid-summers party the end of our Sophomore year, enjoying the luxuries that only Token Black and his gargantuan fucking mansion could allot us. It wasn't the first time we'd drank beer, but it was the first time Stan had gotten smashed doing it. I was merely buzzed, but he was on the verge of collapse.

It had all been so innocent at first. I was helping him to one of the many empty rooms up the curved oak stairway, certain he'd get trampled if he decided to do his passing out on the royal blue carpet of the main floor. I tried not to think about his breath tickling my ear. I tried not to notice how warm he felt against my side. I ignored the faint swelling in my jeans when his arm slid around my waist for support. Thinking about Stan that way was against my own laws; it was too risky.

We found an Arabian-themed room on the second floor, empty of stray partiers who'd wandered into various other rooms for poon or a place to crash. This one had a bed the size of Texas, the thick wood bedposts dripping with darkly colored glass beads. The monster was so tall it had its own step to get up. And it was a damn fine thing it did, too; otherwise, we would have had to mountain climb the side of the quilt. The _real silk _quilt.

Fucking Token and his fucking millions. Why wasn't I the one with a life-sized ivory elephant statue in the corner of my ruby embedded room? Why didn't I have gold fringes hanging off my unbelievable overstuffed velvet pillows? Not to mention the fact that it had a bathroom big enough for my entire trailer to fit inside and a marble balcony complete with a hot tub. It was so unfair.

Of course, I _was _sexier than Token. I guess every guy had to have _something._

Stan practically clawed his way up the side of the bed, flinging himself onto his back when he managed to scramble, quite clumsily, to the top. I moved around to the side of the bed, peering down into diamond blue eyes.

"You can pass out anytime now," I announced, hands on hips. I desperately needed to evacuate the room before I was unable to restrain myself. He'd done far too much clinging and accidental groping in his drunken state on the way up the stairs, and it didn't look like the partial tent I was sporting was about to collapse anytime soon.

He made a sound in the back of his nose, which seemed somewhere between a snort and a whine. "We're 'sposed to all crash together, 'member?" he mumbled, rubbing his head tiredly and messing up his already muddled bangs. "Where's Kyle? I'll go find him."

He flung himself upward and twisted to slide off the bed in the same motion. I put my hands on his shoulders and was able to push him easily back down.

"You were running into walls and flirting with plastic tree decorations," I reminded him. "_I'll _go get him. You'll probably just forget what you were looking for and bring back someone's dirty underwear or something."

Stan grabbed the back of my shirt and tugged me roughly down on the bed with him. "You're not leaving me at fucking Tokens house by myself." The warning sounded powerful compared to his previous talk.

I pulled myself into a sitting position, scowling at him for man-handling me. I wasn't used of anyone having the balls to try and bend me to their will. My mouth was poised open, about to scold him for treating me with such carelessness. But I froze when I looked back down at him.

His shirt was bunched at the hem, exposing his belt-buckle, gleaming with such tantalizing vigor it might as well have had an invitation of "fuck me now" carved in the metal square. I closed my mouth, swallowing. My eyes roved over the length of his lean body and followed up to the black spikes of his eyelashes, absurdly long and feathery, framing the blue of his irises to absolute perfection. He stared back through a cloud of alcohol induced haze, biting his lip as he smiled, as if trying to contain a bout of wild laughter.

Stan was fucking beautiful. He was a sex-god himself, equally as wanted as I was, the epitome of delicious. Especially now, sprawled across the bed with absolute trust and relaxation, rubbing a hand idly up and down his chest, looking at me with that goddamn tempting and irresistible smirk.

"You're fucking lucky I care about you so much, Stan, or I'm afraid I'd have to ravish you."

He barked a short laugh, not quite believing me. Him and his fucking modesty. It only made him more appealing.

Sex with Stan would be amazing. I've thought it over so many times, play by play. Two divine being's practically sparking with sexual appeal, grinding madly against one another; sex between gods.

My breath quickened, and I trailed a finger across his lips, marveling at the softness. The force of his intoxication finally spilled over him as he closed his eyes, giving a weary sigh. That was all it took for me to forget completely about the _Golden, Best Friend rule_. I leaned over him, my body rock hard against his thigh as I pressed my lips against his. He remained still beneath me, his breath slow and even.

It wasn't like I was completely breaking _The Rule._ I'd made out with Stan before. I was the one who had taught him how to kiss in the first place. By freshman year, I was already a master at it, and Stan had asked me for some pointers. The best way I could think of to teach him some techniques was to show him first hand. Much to my chagrin, he'd caught on quickly, a natural, and the lessons ended far sooner than I would have liked.

Besides that, it was only the waist and below that was forbidden. Anything above that was innocent enough. What would a little tongue wrestling hurt?

I dragged my tongue along the bottom of his lip, then let it sink slowly between his teeth. I felt him tense slightly, confused at the sensation. I put my hand on his jaw, holding him steady, using the tip of my tongue to flirt with his. And then he was kissing me back.

It was tired, automatic movements, but damn, he was a fucking good kisser. He'd only gotten better with time.

I moaned deep and low in my throat, aching with need. I felt myself loosening up against him, relaxing against the length of his body. My hand moved to his hip, pulling him more securely against me.

_Easy, Kenny, _I chided myself. It would be too fucking easy to screw him right now. It was evident he was long past conscious thought and didn't know what they fuck he was doing anymore. I could take him right now and no one would have to know about it, not even him. He would never remember this in the morning.

He really _was _lucky he meant so much to me.

"There you are. I've been looking for you guys... every...where..." Kyle's loud, chirping voiced trailed off into oblivion.

He was standing halfway across the room, frozen in mid stride. My head had snapped up upon the intrusion, and we were now staring at each other; him shocked, me startled.

_Busted._

"Hey, Ky." I pulled myself away from Stan and slid off the bed. I wiped at my lips as I moved toward him, trying my best not to look guilty. I could tell by his face that it wasn't working. "I was about to come and get you. I guess we're crashing in _Aladdin's _palace since none of us wanted to play designated driver tonight. Where's Cartman?"

Kyle blinked owlishly, looking from me to Stan. "Were you guys making out?"

I let out a breathy laugh, casting Stan a backward glance. He was officially gone, a soft snore coming from between his parted lips. "Jealous?" I asked when I looked back at Kyle, realizing I had absolutely no room to lie and get away with it. He was too observant for his own damn good.

"You were," He concluded, his voice high, face pale with surprise.

I chuckled again at his reaction. Despite his effort to appear sober, his speech was thick and garbled. Drunk as a skunk.

I wrapped my arms around his limp body, bringing him into my procession. "Don't feel bad. I love all my friends equally. You can have some of this, too." I brought my mouth playfully to his...

And the world fell away around us.

My eyes closed slowly against the feeling that washed over me; a warmth that cracked over my scalp and oozed down my spine. I shivered violently as the warmth overtook my stomach, exploding like fireworks that fizzled up and outward, sizzling along my nerves like an electric current. A desperate, yet satisfied noise escaped my throat.

Kyle shoved me away, a feeble and drunken shove that shouldn't have so much as disturbed me. But my knees had melted, and my weakened body fell away from his. I stumbled but managed to retain my standing position. My breath was ragged fire in my lungs.

"Don't be gay, Kenny," he shrugged it off, starting for the bed. The entire scenario had lasted only a few moments, but it'd felt like slow motion to me. Pure, complete bliss.

I had to have more.

The lust exploded through my veins, filling me with a wild, frantic ache. My heart throbbed manically, painfully against my ribs, threatening to detonate right out of my chest.

I slammed into him before he had a chance to pass, so violently we crashed into the ridiculously tall door. It smashed closed with an ear-shattering bang. I hoisted Kyle up from under his ass, shoving his back against the expensive wood. His thighs wrapped instinctively around mine, and he clutched at my shoulders, afraid of falling. I crushed my lips against his before his shock could properly wrap itself around his brain.

I moaned loudly into his mouth, swallowing his startled gasps. I felt myself swell completely, instantly against his body. He moaned in protest, but was too intoxicated to do much else. I nudged my front half against his, getting an immediate response from his otherwise limp bulge.

Token's high class, exquisitely hand carved door didn't fit the frame as perfectly as it should. It rocked on its hinges, rattling madly with my movements against Kyle. Pleasure shot through me where our bodies rubbed together and rode upward, dizzying through my head. I moved harder against him, and I could feel the heat emitting stronger through his pants. Harder, quicker, until he whimpered against my mouth in a convulsion of spasms. I pulled my mouth away from his and buried my face in his shoulder, crying out his name as the sensations lapped over me with an unmatched vigor.

My body went immediately limp. I couldn't support his weight anymore, and he fell back to the ground, falling into me. We lost our balance and fell against the side of an ancient looking armoire. A shower of rubies fell around us.

Fucking _rubies_, and I couldn't give less of a shit.

"Wow, Kenny," Kyle mumbled, breathless but still lazy and slurred. "You're a," he paused to hiccup. "fucking good kisser." Another hiccup. "Ah, crap." He pushed himself up from the floor, stumbling a little before regaining his balance. "Now I've got the fucking hiccups."

I watched him as I pulled myself up, still panting, and wondered why he hardly seemed effected by what had just happened. The earth just fucking shattered and he seemed oblivious to everything but his damn hiccups!

"I drank too fucking much," He whined, hiccupping again. "I'm never going to another-" he cut off suddenly, clutching a hand to his mouth.

"What? What's the matter?" I asked, touching his arm. The contact sent a spark through me.

He blinked his round, unfocused eyes and bolted to the bathroom. A second later, I heard his stomach rejecting whatever alcohol hadn't yet been digested.

With only my promise to find Cartman before I crashed, I helped him into bed with Stan. He fell asleep almost instantly, his slow, deep breathing in perfect rhythm with his best friend. I ran my fingers over his ivory cheek, looking at him in a way I never had before, feeling something inside me I'd never felt.

On my way out the door to find the fourth of our group, I couldn't help but look back at his perfect, sleeping form.

Of all the people I'd seduced in my short lifetime, and Kyle had changed my whole world with one kiss.

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_To Be Continued..._

_-BratChild3_


	2. Hangovers Suck

**Authors Note: **Hey guys, thanks for the reviews on the first chapter! And my apologies for taking so long to dish this one out. Writers block struck with an iron fist, and it seems I was finally able to break its hold today. First, I'd like everyone to note the full summary in the first chapter and also take in consideration the genre for this. Supernatural is among it. Though, I've noticed I tend to be a Stephanie Meyer writer: I can't seem to write a short story. :) So, it won't get into my main focus until a few chapters in. All my fanfictions quests to better my writing as I go, and now I'm trying to work on my descriptions as well as character development. I believe if you have a good sense of their relationships, it'll make for better emotional attachement to the characters later. Anyway, for those of you itching for the Bunny, Butters appears in the next chapter. :)

Reviews are lovely.

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**Chapter 2- Hangovers suck**

In one instantaneous moment back in junior high, I had decided that Carman was like a sugar cookie: warm on the inside, a little crusty on the outside, and grossly underestimated. Everyone overlooked him for something prettier, something more polished and eye-catching. What they failed to recognize was that Cartman was a classic and equally as delicious as any other treat. I wouldn't recommend him to someone looking for a night of romance, but he was a walking wet dream for anyone who got off on kink because I was certain he'd be into domination, and that was fucking sexy as all hell. I didn't know about any of these other dumbasses, but I would totally fuck his brains out.

So I didn't mind it when I woke up the next morning with his leg thrown across mine and his breath hitting against my neck. Unfortunately, he was protected by the _Golden Rule_, and even if he weren't, it still wouldn't matter because I was pretty sure he'd chop off my dick and feed it to the homeless if I tried anything.

I left Token's house without bothering to wake him. It was only 9:30, and being quite fond of my balls, I decided not to get them ripped off by disturbing his rest that early on a Saturday. Stan and Kyle had already vanished, so there really wasn't anything worth hanging around for. I'll admit it was a little disappointing waking up without Kyle there, but I'd quickly laughed it off and concluded I was a lot drunker than I'd realized last night. It was insane what sort of tricks alcohol could play on your mind.

I mean seriously. Imagine _me,_ in love with _Kyle_. In love _at all_.

I snickered again at the ridiculous notion as I picked my way down the main street of South Park, sipping on the cold can of _Arizona _tea I'd swiped from Tokens refrigerator. At the time, I hadn't remembered that I'd run out of cigarette's and stupidly forgot to jack some from Craig's pocket on the way out the door. I didn't smoke often, but I was feeling disoriented, and smoking usually helped me think.

I finished my tea and used the lack-of-nicotine adrenalin to crunch the white aluminum between my hands and hurl it at an open garbage can. I missed by about six inches and frowned as I watched it vault off the painted brink wall of Harbucks and clatter against the sidewalk.

Whatever. I was never that good at basketball anyway. Basketball was Kyle's thing. And damn, was he good at his thing. Not even his height could stop him from becoming the best player on Park County High's team. If anything, it'd helped him earn his title because he'd had to work harder to prove himself.

It wasn't that Kyle was short exactly; his 5'9" frame was generous enough to keep him looking over the top of the girls heads. But it had been an insult to the other 6' plus players when the principal insisted he get a fair chance in tryouts. Height seemed to be the most important factor to the team. Stan and I were 5'11" and 6' respectively, and the coach would have just as soon taken us—in all our incompetent glory—over any skill "shrimpy" Kyle Broflovski had.

But Kyle didn't let anyone's mockery discourage him, and he not only secured himself a permanent place on the team, but also won the respect of the entire school. Not including Cartman, of course. It had also gotten him more female attention, which he seemed to either snub or be completely immune to. I had guessed he was simply too finicky, maybe even a bit stuck-up about who he'd date. No one seemed to be good enough for him. He'd often tag along on mine and Stan's "girl hunts" but seemed inclined only to point out flaws in everyone we picked.

It wasn't like he couldn't easily find himself a girlfriend. It was true, Kyle wasn't a "God" at school. But that didn't mean he lacked popularity among the opposite sex. While Stan and I emitted an strange sexual glow that seemed to entice most anyone, Kyle was simply the boy-next-door who turned quite a number of heads. The fact that no one turned _his _had been a subject of dispute between Cartman, Stan, and I during numerous lunch periods. Kyle would deliberately ignore us, his face half shrouded by whatever book he was reading at the time, and he'd smirk to himself, patiently listening to each speculation until he'd finally grow bored and snort. "Don't you have anything better to talk about?" he'd ask, at which point Cartman would usually make some sort of snippy remark that would spark another round of Jew verses neo-nazi.

...Which made me realize I was thinking _way _too much about Kyle this morning.

I patted my empty pockets, searching desperately for my absent cigarettes and was temporarily sated when I pulled out a handful of loose change. Not enough for cigarettes, but the local diner was two doors down and offered unlimited coffee refills for fifty-five cents. Their particular brew may have had the questionable flavor and aroma of diluted mud, but it still contained an insane amount of caffeine, which everyone knew was the next best thing to nicotine. And sex.

A bell tinkled cheerily above my head as I pushed my way through the lace-cloaked door twenty seconds later. My eyes scanned the small western themed room, and I smiled when I recognized the only other two customers. Stan was huddled over the bar, nursing a steaming cup of black coffee, his shoulders slouched in comprehensible exhaustion. Kyle sat to his left, pushing scrambled eggs around a pile of half-eaten sourdough toast. His cup was filled with a lighter coffee, its steam curling toward the ceiling in ghostly ribbons, untouched and inviting in its allure. Behind the counter, a young, attractive waitress stood idle between the kitchen and colorful row of fountain drinks, whispering fervently into her cell phone as she eyed Stan's hung-over form. Her giggles were barely contained over the country music wafting out of invisible speakers.

I dragged a stool loudly across the room, its legs shrieking in protest against the polished oak floorboards, and wedged it between Stan and Kyle. I flashed the waitress a brazen smile as I sat. Her cheeks exploded with visible heat before she turned away, darting into the protection of the kitchen. Her shrill voice blared out behind the wall. "Oh my God, there's _two _of them now!"

I chuckled and threw an arm over each of my friends shoulders. "Good morning, sunshine's. How're you feeling?" I asked stridently, and they recoiled, cringing in discomfort.

"Ugh, not so fucking loud, dude," Stan said, his lips never leaving the rim of his white cup.

Kyle looked up from his breakfast plate, managing a soft smile, his fatigue casting purple shadows in the hollows beneath his eyes. My lungs constricted painfully with the inhalation of one sharp breath.

"Really shitty," he answered. "We've pretty much avoided talking to each other all morning because noise is so fucking excruciating right now. I don't understand how you can put yourself through this all the time; hangovers _suck._"

I couldn't comment at first, not with him looking at me that way. My heart convulsed, thrashing viciously against my torpid lungs. For once in my life I couldn't fucking think of anything to say, the goddamn voice stealing, heart-squeezing Jew.

"Kenny?" He touched my arm, concerned by my lack of response.

"Can I, um... get you anything?" Asked the waitress. I could feel her presence looming just on the other side of the bar counter, but I couldn't pry myself away from the shamrock green of Kyle's gaze. There was a single fleck of gold just outside his left pupil, pressed against the green like a carefully set jewel.

After a brief pause—in which I'm terrified I may have been drooling—I fumbled in my pocket, produced the handful of coins, and flattened them against the countertop. "Coffee," I managed simply, then remembered what little etiquette my grandma drilled into me before her demise and added, "Please."

"Kenny, are you feeling alright?" Kyle asked, his hand warm against the bend of my elbow. I nodded dumbly and finally blinked. The staring spell unlocked, and I looked away, embarrassed_. _

Shit. I was _never _self-conscious, what the hell? I shifted anxiously, suddenly itching for the hidden safety of my childhood parka. I curled my fingers into my palms, wishing I could pull the strings of my nonexistent hood taut.

Stan was watching me now, his fingers coiled possessively around his cup as his eyes toured my face in open scrutiny. I was more closely bound to Stan than any of my other friends. He knew how to read me like the threadbare pages of his favorite book; there was no way in hell I'd be able to hide my abrupt and embarrassing case of bashfulness from him. "What's the matter with you?" He finally asked.

I evaded eye contact in favor of tracing my nail over the initials carved into the decorative timber countertop. _C+T, _it read, and I wondered vaguely how long it had been there and if they were still together. It seemed no one lasted long anymore.

"He just needs some breakfast, that's all," Kyle said helpfully, scooting his plate a little closer toward me. "Here, you can share mine."

I was seriously retarded enough to look at him again. He smiled easily at me, brandishing a gleaming fork, its prongs folded carefully under his fingers. He had always been considerate about that sort of thing; my feelings toward anything with the potential to harm were delicate, and he honored that with generous collaboration. Kyle's patient, mindful eye had spared me many bizarre deaths, and I was forever grateful to him.

The knot in my stomach started to warm, melting into something more pleasurable. It was same liquid passion that had made me kiss his temple so tenderly after I'd put him to bed last night. I attempted to regulate the palpitations in my chest and quickly learned that deep-breathing exercises were bullshit; Kyle had a firm grip on my entire nervous system, and being a patient grasshopper or whatever the hell I was supposed to be thinking about wasn't fucking working. Even my palms began to moisten with perspiration, and I realized how degrading it was to feel so squashy inside, even if it could be easily concealed. But still I smiled, helplessly charmed by his kindness. Now I knew what _my _victims felt like when I reduced them to pulpy swooners.

Christ, it was almost enjoyable.

I cleared my throat, first testing the audibility of my voice before braving it. I gave him a wink as I grasped the offered utensil, letting my fingers loiter against his a moment, then attempted to regain some sense of normality by playfully adding, "Thanks, Luscious."

He snorted at that, but he was sniggering as he reached for his coffee. Kyle didn't mind when I flirted with him. He took it all in stride, so sure it was just for kicks.

Stan knew better, but he'd still flirt back if his mood permitted. Neither of us were immune to the others' godly allure, and for the sake of a confidence boost, we'd often unleash our magnetism on each other. The attraction was there, but we'd always kept it on a safe level, refusing to reduce the other to a pliable heap of lust; although, the craving to test that capability was a desire I could sense burning from both ends.

I scooped some eggs onto the fork, feeling both boys cringe as it screeched across the ceramic of the plate. I shoveled a few heaping spoonfuls into my mouth and washed it noisily down with my shit-flavored coffee. The waitress reappeared, giddy and nervous. She refilled Kyle's mug with genuine courtesy, but she poured mine with shaking hands. I gazed up at her, smiling perversely and winked when she dared a glance into my eyes. She fumbled a little, almost pouring the contents of the pot onto the bar.

"Thanks, beautiful," I said, chuckling as she smiled and tried to walk gracefully away on legs the constancy of custard.

"Jesus, Kenny, do you _ever _give it a rest?" Stan asked, more deadpan than annoyed. He was probably trying to tease me, but it was always hard for Stan to project anything except what he was feeling, and it was obvious right now he was feeling like crap. Still, I appreciated his endeavor.

"Oh, now Stanley, there's no need to get jealous," I said, fingering the tender skin behind his earlobe. It was one of his sweet spots. I couldn't even remember how I had discovered it, but as a shiver traveled gently up his spine, I was glad I had. "I'll be happy for an encore of last nights performance."

That had Kyle's attention. He sputtered immediately, dribbling coffee down the lime green of his shirt. His eyes were wide as he looked at us.

"What are you talking about?" Stan asked.

I traced my finger across his neck, rimming the skin just on the inside of his black shirt collar. He made no move to stop me. "You were slipping me some hot tongue action last night, you naughty thing. It was starting to get pretty intense."

"Again? Huh." Stan blew into his cup, unperturbed, and took a gentle sip. He seemed not to notice just how bothered by this revelation Kyle had become. I looked back at him, faltering in his silence. It looked like something inside him had shattered.

"You guys make out with each other a lot?" he asked, looking between us, a soft frown creasing between his brow. My stomach actually lurched, and it took me a moment to realize I was hurting for him. I'd never seen him so disturbed.

"Well, you know," I started hesitantly. "It's happened a few times."

Fuck, I was bad at this emotional crap. Why did Stan have to be so unfocused when he was hung-over? It was his responsibility to keep Kyle happy; he was good at it. I wasn't.

Kyle propped his forearms against the counter, leaning forward to peer at Stan around my outline. "Stan? I... didn't know you liked guys." It was spoken as a statement, but the end held the unmistakable quirk of an inquiry.

Stan considered, rolling his cup between his palms, not uncomfortable about being asked such a question. Growing up in South Park tended to have a weakening effect on one's reaction to potentially surprising situations. Asking someone indirectly if they were bi or possibly gay had the potential of getting your teeth knocked out, sure, but it certainly wasn't among the top five most offensive questions around here. Finally, Stan shrugged. "Not usually. I guess Kenny's just good at it."

Kyle deflated in his chair, his shock quickly melting into a lethal blend of disappointment and jealousy. Now, Kyle knew that both Stan and I no longer shared his wholesome nature of virginity. Though I had a reputation for such matters, Stan's encounters were kept under wraps. Unlike me, the grand total of people he'd nailed tallied in at two, and both had been "serious" girlfriends. Kyle was the first to know about each of these occurrences. I'd noticed even than that it had hit him pretty hard, Wendy more so then Red, probably because Red had been the runner up while Wendy had the privilege of deflowering the virtuous Mr. Marsh herself. Nobody considered Stan or Wendy licentious in the least, but their sexual thirst for each other found them surrendering on occasion long after their final break-up two years ago.

Kyle was also fully aware that Stan considered anything from the waist up fair game. In his mind, their wasn't any harm in making out and sometimes even copping a feel at parties, and that included anyone he felt like going after at the time. Considering that, it was a bit bewildering to see Kyle sulk so openly about something that should have been expected more than it should have been surprising.

"What about the _Golden Rule_?" He turned his attention to me, his eyes hard and accusing, narrowed to dangerous jade slits.

At first, I had thought the idea of his best friend being so unchaste was what was munching so irritatingly on his balls; but in a sudden epiphany, I realized that the prospect of Kyle being envious of Stan for getting me to break my number one rule wasn't all that absurd. Fuck, was it actually possible the questionably asexual Kyle Broflovski felt something for me? The notion gave just enough swell to my ego to brush my previous butterflies off. I wrapped my finger around a loose scarlet curl and leaned into his ear. The delectable scent of light apple called warmly from his skin, momentarily throwing me out of kilter. I swallowed back a soft moan, brushing my fingers down his neck. "You got a lot more out of me last night than he's been able to so far. It was a delicious sample, but I think I could overlook a few rules if you want me to devour the whole package."

He ripped me from the stool so quickly I hadn't even realized we moved until we were already on the other side of the diner. He sneered, squeezing my shoulders almost painfully between his hands.

"Look Kenny," he said, teeth clenched. "I know this is all fun and games to you, but I'm not like that. What happened between us last night was..." he lost his nerve suddenly, and as his harsh expression crumbled into something soft and insecure, he dropped his arms and chin simultaneously.

My lips parted in wonder, and before I could stop it, I reached out to touch him tenderly on the shoulder. "Kyle?"

He sucked in a deep breath and looked back up. "Listen," he exhaled the word sharply. "What happened was just some drunken mistake, and I'd appreciate if you didn't make some sort of sick joke about it, especially when other people are around. It may be stupid to you, but when I do something like that, even something as "insignificant" as kissing, it actually means something to me."

"I don't think that's stupid at all," I said, a little hurt he thought so lowly of me. Though I obviously didn't share his personal morals, I had never once thought anything bad of him for it.

He read my eyes a moment and decided I wasn't fibbing. A note of desperation reached his voice. "Whatever you think of it, please don't brag, Kenny. I'm not like you."

I watched his arms move up to hug his slender torso, unconsciously protecting himself from my soiled, immoral figure. And God, for the first time I actually felt the weight of that truth. He was nothing like us. He never had been. Morals could be verbally instilled from the time of conception, but whether or not those teachings would hold was based entirely on what came from within. Kyle was pure in body because he was pure in soul, and not even South Park was able to corrupt such innocence. My cockiness wavered, and again I was laved in the gentle feelings I wasn't yet accustomed to. I shifted uneasily beneath his gaze, wanting to express this tenderness and not knowing how.

"Yeah, Ky," I practically whispered, and hated myself for sounding so weak. "I won't tell anyone."

He smiled in answer, dropping his defensive stance to punch me chummily on the shoulder. "Thanks, Kenny."

I rubbed at the jolt of flutters his touch had sent through my body. "Hey, Kyle? Do you think..." I swallowed back a knot, then clenched my fists for strength. This acting like a pussy bit was getting lame pretty quickly. "Do you think you could ever be with someone less virtuous than yourself?"

He actually laughed at that. "You really think I'm virtuous?" At my nod, he laughed again. "I already have it pretty bad for someone who isn't exactly on my level of innocence."

"Really?" I asked, unable to hide the raw sauciness in my tone. "And who might that be?"

He hesitated, then allowed the smile to draw up his face again. "Not saying. Not until I figure out the best way to tell him."

"_Him_?" I repeated, and he let out a nervous chortle, nodding. "Well, can you at least tell me if it's someone I know?"

"Let's just say... with the _Golden Rule _in effect, it's going to make it a lot harder to fess up."

I couldn't help it, I felt my heart kick up with hope. Again, my confidence soared. "With the way things have been going lately, it seems that rule is becoming flimsy. Maybe you should just go for it before someone else moves in."

Kyle looked thoughtful a moment, then chucked my shoulder again. "You know something? Maybe I will."

--

TO BE CONTINUED...

* * *

_-BratChild3_


	3. Lollipop

**Authors Note: **Hey, guys. Thanks a million for all the reviews I've gotten for this story so far. I'm always up for helpful criticism, just to remind you. Also let me know if you think the chapter sizes are alright or if you'd maybe want them longer. Please review so I know how I'm doing.

* * *

**Chapter three-Lollipop**

"Heya, Buttercups, what are you doing down there?"

Below me, Butters halted, stumbling a little before catching himself. He looked around the deceptively vacant park, then pulled a grape lollipop out of his mouth and scratched his head. I snickered and snuffed out my cigarette against the bark of the tree I was sitting in.

"You're gonna have to look a little higher than that," I called down to him.

Butters craned his neck, framing his eyes against the concentrated sunlight with a small pale hand, then broke into a sunny smile. "Kenny!"

I beamed, forever perplexed and flattered by his overenthusiastic greetings. As far as I knew, he was never that happy to see anyone else. My mood soared. "What's up, sweet-cheeks?"

"Well, you are," he replied cutely. "I was just takin' a walk. It's awful nice out today."

"Yeah, I guess it _is _a nice day." I looked up at the sky, then frowned as I peered back down at him, pouting openly. "I'm sooo lonely, though. It would be better if I had someone to share it with."

Butters smile waned, worry quickly settling in. "Don't-don't worry, Kenny! I'll keep you company." He popped his candy back into his mouth, holding it tight between his lips as he started for the tree. I smiled as I watched him climb each ascending branch, clumsy and infantile.

There was something inexplicitly charming about Butters Stotch. His appeal was gentle, made up of a soft magic that came dangerously close to tugging at my heart strings. In truth, I had always thought if I were capable of falling in love, I would fall in love with Butters. Maybe I was delusional, drunk off his innocence; rain-gray eyes and the scent of baby powder. But no matter the cause, if there was one absolute truth, it was that no one had ever sparked my interest, my lust, or my curiosity the way Butters had.

Of course, that was _before _Kyle.

I could clearly separate the two as if it were different lifetimes: the _before _Kyle and the _after _Kyle. The former was littered with parties and sex and booze and fun, the latter with feeble attempts to get his attention. There was something about _feelings _that turned me into a complete pussy, and it seemed every attempt at flirtation I made either fell on deaf ears or completely backfired, leaving me in the throes of failure and disappointment. Kyle was impervious. I had never tried so hard to get someone's attention before. I had never cared enough to try very hard before, and it was seriously affecting my social life. I hadn't gotten laid in a good number of weeks, and the backlog of spooge had my nerves beyond frazzled.

"Oh, Christmas!" Butters wailed, frozen one branch below me.

I looked down at him, frowning. "What's wrong?"

"I looked down!" he cried. "I'm afraid of heights, Kenny! I don't wanna fall!"

I coiled my arm around the trunk of the tree and leaned forward, reaching down to him. "You're not going to fall, Buttercups. Give me your hand."

Butters whimpered, trembling visibly as he reached a timid hand up, keeping his elbow pressed into his side. I chuckled as I bent a little lower and secured a strong hold on his forearm. "Push off on the count of three, okay?" I told him, patiently waiting for his nod before counting. "One...two..._three_." I hoisted him up, and he clambered into my arms, anchoring his thighs around my waist. I wrapped my arms around his back and leaned against the trunk, not afraid of falling. The tree was thick, hundreds of years old, and the branch I had chosen was more than enough to accommodate us. There was at least a half an inch to spare on each side of my ass. "There, now, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

Butters pulled his face out of my throat, keeping a tight hold around my neck as he assessed the situation with worried eyes. He still had his sucker clamped in the hollow between his teeth and cheek, the luminous skin stretched and protruding with a small, round bump. He hesitated for a beat, then pulled it out with a loud popping sound. "Well, I'ah... I guess it is pretty nice up here." His tone was completely unconvincing.

"Mmm." I acknowledged, then hoped to distract him by asking, "Can I have a taste?"

Startled eyes snapped to mine, confused for a moment by the question. I curled my fingers around the tiny fist holding the lollipop and lifted it to my mouth, holding his gaze as I swirled my tongue suggestively around the ball of candy. His lips parted slightly as I sucked the underside. "Yummy," I purred darkly, moving the treat back to his mouth. I was already getting a reaction; the mild snag of his breath, the incline of his pulse, the sudden rigidity of his posture. I watched him take it between his lips, sucking gently, unsure of himself but eager to please.

I leaned forward, my breath whispering warmly against his skin seconds before my lips connected with the side of his neck. He melted into it, a soft sigh vibrating his throat. I sunk my teeth in, nibbling softly. His skin was baby soft, silkier than any girl I'd been with. He shifted in my lap, finding a more comfortable position as he leaned into the sensation. I moaned deeply.

Butters complicated things. He fell between the lines of play toy and friend, overlapping _The Golden Rule _and the safe zone perfectly. On the one hand, he wasn't an official part of our group. On the other, he was the only person outside of the group I considered more than just a piece of ass. Butters was my friend, even if he wasn't part of The Unbreakable Four. I allowed myself to indulge in the pleasures of foreplay with him, though never under the clothes, never enough to make either of us come. It was frustrating for both of us; but with Butters, I couldn't help but feel like anything bolder than that would be taking advantage of him.

You see, with Butters, he wasn't simply persuaded by my magic, he was harboring a deeply embedded crush. I'd learned this by accident in the seventh grade, when we'd collided in the hall and I took home his Hello Kitty notebook by mistake. The insides were littered with literally hundreds of hearts—pristine and perfect—my name tucked neatly inside.

The lines were quickly drawn, and he became a toy I could never unwrap, to be played with only in demo mode and secure inside its package. He was too breakable and too valuable—I didn't even trust myself to be careful with him.

"K-Kenny," he panted, arching against me. I felt the hardened front of his jeans nudge against mine, and I groaned. He repeated the motion, gasping at the sensations as I left my mark in the form of a hickey on his neck. I pulled away slowly, and he caught my lips with his, pressing into me.

Butters ran on instinct, too naïve to place a name and a meaning to most things sexual, and therein lie his allure. Every carnal reaction I elicited from him was genuine, no forethought or practice involved. He moved out of pure will rather than how he was told he was supposed to. He didn't even realize he was in the midst of dry humping; he only knew it felt good to move against me.

God, it was exhilarating.

I gave him a few more moments, selfishly taking in each spark of pleasure that shot up my spine, then pulled my lips away from his hypnotic scented skin and put my hands on his forearms, firmly stilling him. I had a lot of practice, and my endurance was high. But Butters breathing was labored, sweat beading delicately along his hairline. He was inexperienced—virginal and easily aroused. That few minutes was all it took to bring him close to release, and I couldn't allow it to go that far.

Christ, it really was a fucking shame I couldn't bang him.

"Please, don't make me stop again," he pleaded, attempting to free his arms.

"Butters-"

"I feel like I'm gonna explode or somethin'," he whimpered, and I laughed, pressing my lips against his forehead.

"Give it a few minutes, it'll go away." I promised, trying hard to suppress a snicker. He leaned into me and closed his eyes, inhaling deeply.

"I wanna know what'll happen if I keep goin'."

For fucks sake, that was tempting. His lips brushed mine again, and I relented. Sometimes it was hard to remember what I was holding out for. Butters was seventeen. Why the hell was I so worried about his innocence? He was certainly sheltered, but behind that cherubic face lie the mind of a true pervert. Sometimes I was sure he was more preoccupied with the notion of sex than even I was. At times, it seemed almost inhumane to deny him the pleasures of the big O. But then, _God_, I'd look into his eyes and feel the guilt rise in the form of a lump in my throat, sharp and painful. Butters deserved someone who would be there the morning after, not someone who'd be gone before the sun rose, trying again to impress Kyle Broflovski.

Kyle had become a different story. Kyle—despite any and all rules I had imposed on myself—was someone I would fuck the second he gave the nod. Unlike Butters, Kyle was stable and practical. He thought hard about what he wanted and understood the risks involved before he went after something. If Kyle wanted it, there would be no regrets afterward, and if things didn't work out, I was certain he was mature enough to handle it without falling to pieces. I had decided this after weeks of careful consideration, and finally came to the conclusion that, yes, I wanted him, and yes, I was willing to overlook the rules to call him mine.

And yet here I was, panting and moaning into Butters mouth, living up to my name as the town slut. I pulled away again, skimming a hand through his pastel blonde hair. "Butters-"

I heard the voices first, soft and distant, breaking off my sentence almost before I'd even started. I looked down into the clearing below us just as Kyle broke through the shrubs, laughing as he ran, twigs snapping in an ominous tune beneath his shoes. Stan was on his heels, chasing him with graceful strides. Even from a distance he seemed to glow, his godly light casting his surroundings in shadow as he fell on top of Kyle, crushing him against a pile of leaves and wild grass. Kyle seemed to radiate Stan's glow from the inside, his eyes like the sun as he fought through his laughter to get back up. Stan straddled his slender waist, tickling him mercilessly until tears were pouring down his face.

I was distracted for a few minutes by how unconditionally happy Kyle was; his defenses completely displaced, his guard withdrawn. I can't honestly say that I'd ever seen him so content before, and I wondered with a sickening uneasiness if that was his default mood whenever he and Stan were alone. God knew he was his usual moody, reserved self when it was just the two of us.

Stan finally eased up when Kyle's laughter became so intense he could no longer breathe. He pulled himself up fluidly, reaching a hand out to help Kyle to his feet. Kyle staggered and steadied himself against Stan, still laughing as he caught his breath.

"Asshole," he said, trying to be insulting through his amusement. Stan grinned, denying nothing.

"What did you want to tell me?" he asked instead.

Kyle sobered immediately, putting reluctant space between them. Butters sat stiffly in my lap, mashing his knuckles together.

"Maybe we shouldn't be-" he started haltingly, but I silenced him with one finger to his lips.

Kyle moved to sit on a wide, flat stump, fidgeting anxiously. Stan joined him an instant later, placing a careful hand on his shoulder. "Ky?"

"I kind of- need your help," he said carefully.

Stan nodded. "Anything."

Kyle cast a fleeting, nervous smile at him. His leg was bouncing. "I don't know how to tell someone...that is, I think I—for fucks sake, how do I say this without sounding like a total pussy?"

Stan laughed, the sound soothing and sure like a healing balm. He inched just a bit closer, and I realized suddenly the way they always seemed to unconsciously gravitate toward one another. "Don't worry about what you sound like. I know you're anything _but _a pussy. Cartman's got the bruises to prove it."

Kyle grinned appreciatively at him, then plunged. "I need your romantic advise on what the hell to do when you like someone. And I don't mean just 'they have a nice ass,' I mean when you're honestly interested."

Stan's eyes lit up, a smile creeping onto his face. "Oh my God. Kyle never-been-interested-in-anyone Broflovski _likes _someone?"

Kyle laughed nervously, wringing his hands together, then stood. He began pacing. "I've thought about it for a long time. For _years_. I thought, _what's the use of going after someone I have a crush on when the crush is just going to end?_ But this feeling just keeps getting stronger and I realized it's not a crush." He paused, meeting Stan's eyes again. "I think I'm in love."

Stan took a moment to think about that, just staring. "That's a big assumption, Kyle," he said finally.

"It's not an assumption," Kyle snapped, suddenly angry. "You know I'm not some bleeding-heart romantic that's always falling in love, like _you_."

Stan and I both flinched. I'm not sure Kyle's ever said something so vicious to Stan before; then again, the tears were notable in his tone. Stan had obviously struck a painful chord in him.

Stan looked away, his expression morose. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

Kyle sighed and made his way over to the stump, sinking wearily back onto it. "I've thought hard about this, Stan," he said, gentler. "I'm in love. Weak-kneed, sweaty-palmed, can't eat, can't sleep, reach for the stars, head-over-heels, honest to God crazy in love."

Stan smiled kindly, touching his shoulder. "I believe you," he promised, taking a moment to drink in Kyle's gaze. "Now we just need to figure out what to do about it."

Kyle rubbed his obviously sweaty palms against his knees. "I have no idea, dude. I'm not very good at this."

"It's going to depend on who it is. Everyone reacts differently," said Stan. "What type of girl is she?"

Kyle shifted awkwardly. "It's... well, she's not really a 'she.'"

"She's not really a-" The look on Stan's face changed from one of confusion to extreme glee. "Kyle, you fucker. Are you serious?" Kyle grinned before he could stop himself, wickedly unashamed. Stan punched him in the shoulder. "I knew it!"

"_What_?" Kyle cried. "You thought I was gay and you never said anything?"

"We've all speculated right in front of your face!" Stan defended himself. "I figured if you weren't telling me, then maybe you weren't sure. Besides, I was right, wasn't I?"

"You know, I'm not really sure," Kyle said, his voice ringing with baffled honesty. "I want him so much that I haven't given anyone else any thought; girls _or _guys. I'm too consumed to be interested."

Stan subsided. "That sounds pretty hardcore."

Kyle nodded, and they were soundless for a while, not looking at each other. Kyle chewed his lip, trying not to smile, appearing nervously hopeful. Stan looked worried and maybe even a little nauseated as he drummed his fingers across his knee, speculating.

"Just tell me one thing, Ky," he finally said. "It's not Cartman, is it?"

Kyle shoved him to the ground, appalled. "Sick, dude!"

Stan was laughing as he pulled himself back up. I was too anxious to be amused by that. Kyle had it bad for whoever this mystery person was, so bad that if it wasn't me, I didn't have a prayer of a chance with him. And I had the god awful feeling that it wasn't. My grip around Butters waist tightened out of reflex. My heart rate soared painfully; I could hear it throbbing in my ears.

"Never say anything like that again!" Kyle was saying, furious at Stan's allegation. He was standing several paces away from the stump, glaring across the empty space between them.

Stan held up his hands in surrender, still laughing. "I'm sorry," he said. "Stranger things have happened. Relax."

"Not Cartman," Kyle insisted, obstinate. "I can't take a joke about Cartman unless it's _aimed _at Cartman. You know that."

"Seriously, Kyle, I'm happy you're so thoroughly mortified," said Stan, then suddenly, "It's Kenny, isn't it?"

Butters and I both froze, our eyes snapping to each other. I swallowed the lump of guilt that formed in my throat when I saw just how petrified the notion of Kyle loving me made him. Butters had watched me flirt with Kyle for weeks now, silently holding in his jealousy, waiting patiently for his turn. I think Butters was more aware of his surroundings than I gave him credit for. I think he knew if Kyle liked me, it'd be the end of hope for him.

I felt awful, and yet I still couldn't stop my heart from filling with the hope that this was it—that Kyle Broflovski would be all mine.

Kyle's forehead wrinkled in confusion. "What?"

"Is Kenny the one?" Stan rephrased.

"What makes you think-"

"You've been spending a lot of time together." Stan pushed up from the stump, closing the distance between him and Kyle slowly. He kept his eyes cast downward and jammed his hands into his jeans pockets. "I've never seen Kenny so absorbed in flirting with someone that he failed to land himself a lay for three consecutive weeks. And every time I called, he's been with you."

Kyle gaped. "Kenny asked me to help him pull his grades up. We're only-"

"He stares at you at lunch. He waits for you between classes."

"He—what?"

"He totally flew off the handle when he found one of your sweaters in my bed, then blamed his mood on some imaginary headache."

I felt Butters look at me again, his cloudy eyes smoldering with silent accusations. Heat consumed my cheeks; I was humiliated I had been so easily read. Then again, Stan always knew exactly what was going on in my twisted mind. For a moment, I resented him for sharing my carefully hidden feelings right in front of Butters. But in hindsight, Stan didn't realize we were there. If it were anyone's fault, it was mine for eavesdropping on what was supposed to be a private, personal conversation between two best friends.

"I don't think I understand what you're-"

"And the first thing you do when you see me is ask about him," Stan cut Kyle off.

Kyle's face hardened, bitter for some unfathomable reason. "That's because I want to know if the two of you have picked up any more girls, or if you're content to just screw each other from now on." He had no way of knowing what happened between us behind closed doors, and had understandably mistaken sexual tension for something that it wasn't.

Stan couldn't deny the sparks between us, and hell, he couldn't deny we'd broken the rules to make-out several times. He wisely decided to sidestep the accusation that there was something more between us and nodded understandingly. "Because you're in love with him."

"Because I'm in love with _you_!" Kyle blurted, frustrated tears coloring his voice.

My stomach lurched painfully the same instant Stan's lips parted in astonishment. Stan gawked at him, unable to form words. Butters was relieved; I felt the tension drain from his petite body. I was seconds from puking up my acidic, broken heart.

"Me?" Stan asked, disbelief rocking every word. "You... You're in love with _me_?"

"Yes," Kyle said without a trace of uncertainty. He stepped forward, a note of longing reaching his voice as he reached a gloveless hand up to touch Stan's cheek. "Deeply, madly, desperately, honestly, completely in love."

Their lips were inches apart. My breath caught painfully in my throat, and Butters touched my shoulder, wordlessly asking if I were alright. I pulled his hand away gingerly and squeezed it in mine.

"Oh, God, Kyle," Stan whimpered, and turned away, raking his fingers through his hair. "Oh, God."

Kyle spun him back around, gripping his shoulders angrily. "Oh, no. You are _not _going to flip out on me, _Stanley_. Half the student body is in love with you, the rest want to at least fuck you, and I know for a fact you don't give half a shit about homosexuality because you told me so and because you're currently boning Kenny!"

Stan pried Kyle's fingers loose and jerked his arms back down to his sides. "I am _not _boning Kenny and I never have!"

Butters smiled, delighted by this revelation. Kyle was completely taken aback. "Really?" he asked.

"I've told you everyone I've slept with, Kyle: Wendy and Red. That's all," Stan said. "I wouldn't fuck Kenny because sex complicates things."

Kyle hesitated a beat. "_Really_?" he asked again, his voice a pitch higher. I could hear the smile hiding behind the words.

Stan sighed, leaning his forehead into Kyle's cheek for a moment. "Look," he said, stepping back. "You're right that I deal with a lot of attention and a lot of people's crushes, and you're right that you being gay doesn't change my opinion of you at all."

"Then what's the problem?" Kyle demanded. "I'm not good enough for you? I never said you had to love me back, Stan."

"You know I love you."

"And you know I don't mean that kind of love."

Tension crackled between them in the few seconds of silence that ticked by. Finally, Stan cupped Kyle's face in his hands, looking intently into his eyes. "I'm not mad at you," he promised, and all the strain between them dissolved. "I'm not freaked out, or grossed out, or anything else that would make me a complete asshole if I were." A small breathy laugh escaped Kyle. Stan went on, "You caught me by surprise, that's all. I seriously thought... it was Kenny."

"It's not."

"I know that. Now." Stan released Kyle, sighing.

"You know I wont pressure you into anything," Kyle said softly, looking down at his shoes. "but if there's even the faintest chance you might feel something back, I'm not giving up on you."

Stan smiled gravely, his arms crossed against his waist, clutching his elbows. "I need some time to think about this. Just... Give me some time."

Kyle looked up at him, studying his eyes. "Okay," he whispered, hugging himself.

Stan moved to turn away, paused, then turned back to Kyle and embraced him warmly. A moment later he was gone, the sound of his hurried steps quickly dying out.

Kyle sunk back onto the stump, dazed. I looked at Butters and nudged at the ground with my chin. His arms tightened around me, eye going wide.

"I'll go first," I said. "and I'll help you down safely. One branch at a time."

Butters thought about this a moment, then agreed, apparently realizing a few minutes of help down was better than being stuck up there by himself. It didn't take long to reach the floor of the park, and by then I was sure Kyle was aware of our presence. Butters looked back and forth between us, unsure what to do with himself. I sent him on his way with the promise that I'd call him when I got back home. He agreed easily enough, and I waited until he'd disappeared through the shrubbery before moving to sit beside Kyle. Stan's less than flattered reaction had me running on a tinge of hope again, but Kyle didn't look deterred in the least. His knees were drawn up to his chest, his spacey gaze fixated on his shoes. His lips held the faintest hint of a smile.

"Kyle?" I asked.

He blinked slowly, then looked up at me, his eyes dancing with excitement. "Hey, Kenny."

My voice stuck halfway up my throat. Was he delusional? Did he seriously not realize that Stan had just bolted, and that things between them could possibly become rocky? I put my arm around him, thinking maybe the happiness I was reading in his eyes was all a façade. Christ, what if he was about to come undone?

"I couldn't help but overhear what you... Me and Butters were in the tree and we... I'm sorry, I didn't mean to spy on you." That wasn't exactly the truth. I hadn't set out to spy on him, but I hadn't done anything to alert them of my presence either. That, I decided, had to be just as bad.

"Yeah," Kyle said. "Yeah, I mean... no, it's alright." He seemed to be struggling to stay focused. "Did you see that?"

"Yeah," I said. "Kyle, I'm so sorry." I was waiting for the tears, ready to hold him while he sobbed, helpless and heartbroken in my arms. It could work to my advantage; I could show him how good I'd be to him. Maybe I didn't yet have his heart, but that didn't mean I couldn't win it now that Stan had given it up.

But Kyle was floating on some imaginary heart-shaped cloud, grinning like a completely lovesick moron. He fell against my shoulder, awestruck. "I can't believe I actually have a chance."

"Wait—what?" I asked, bewildered. I pointed in the direction Stan and Butters had disappeared. "Kyle, he just ran for his life."

Kyle frowned, sitting up. "He didn't 'run for his life,' Kenny. I just caught him off guard, that's all."

"But Kyle, I-"

"_Kenny_," his voice was stern, but he was still smiling. "I know Stan. Trust me, everything's fine."

I wasn't so sure of that myself. I'd seen the look on his face, the utter dejection. Stan—for whatever reason—didn't want Kyle to love him. And Kyle didn't want to see the truth.

I swallowed hard; my mouth had gone dry. I had a feeling things were about to get pretty rough for Stan Marsh and Kyle Broflovski.

---

TO BE CONTINUED.

* * *

_-BratChild3_


	4. Gold

**Authors Note: **LOL this chapter's kinda long. XD I got carried away, I guess. Thank you for the reviews for last chapter, and I really hope you will take the time to write another and let me know how you're liking it. I appreciate it so much.

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**Chapter four-Gold**

Stan Marsh was an asshole.

He had been avoiding Kyle for the past two and a half weeks, and when evasion proved impossible—like at school— he deliberately ignored him.

At first, Kyle had stayed optimistic. He was so sure Stan was telling the truth when he said he just needed a little time. But poor, oblivious Kyle had no prior romantic experience and couldn't read the underlying truth behind the words, a dead ringer of, "_You're never going to hear from me again_." I didn't want to believe it at first. I mean, this was _Stan. _He wasn't supposed to be a douchebag, he was supposed to be our goddamn fucking friend.

Kyle's mood quickly deteriorated the following weekend. He was badly shaken from an entire week spent waiting nervously by the phone, and he came back to school on Monday with puffy eyes, swollen and red from so much crying. He dragged himself to each of his classes in a lackluster daze, moping pitifully and not talking to anyone. His face was chalky, paler than normal and lacking its usual porcelain-like vivacity. Evidence of insomnia resided in the hollows beneath his eyes, purple and bruised looking. Stan had certainly made a fucking mess of him.

I glared hard across the cafeteria at the asshole, watching as he sat silently on the wide staircase leading back into the main corridor. He was sitting with Wendy and her friends, his elbow bent and resting lazily on top of her thigh, watching Kyle. _Always _watching Kyle.

_Get your pussy ass over here and talk to him, you fucker, _I challenged him with my glower. He buried his face against Wendy's leg, hiding his eyes in the bend of his elbow. Wendy glanced briefly down at him, then began running painted lilac nails absently through his hair. None of the girls seemed to notice the tension in the room, thick and suffocating even over the masses of our faceless peers. They were too worried about themselves to notice much of what went on around them. Wendy didn't even realize Stan had a drunken habit of rounding first base with the Y chromosomes of the school. In fact, Stan himself seemed pretty much oblivious to his crooked side when he wasn't under the influence.

My expression soured. I hoped Stan was feeling too much guilt over abandoning his best friend to bang Wendy. It wouldn't be fair of him to run off and have himself a good time when Kyle was so badly traumatized by his indifference.

I'd never had any ill feelings toward Stan before, but he was acting as if he hadn't spent the better part of his life building this amazingly unbreakable friendship with Kyle, and a potent mixture of animosity and disgust quickly overrode the respect he'd earned from me over the years. I was so disappointed in him.

"He's never going to talk to me again, is he, Kenny?"

I blinked away from Stan, my attention redirected to the owner of the frail voice. Kyle was staring sightlessly at his peanut butter sandwich, chin resting delicately in his palms. A feeble ghost of the fiery, confident person I'd known just last week. I touched his back, trying desperately to comfort him.

"Hey, now don't say that," I scolded gently. "Maybe he really _does _just need some time. He may be a heartthrob, but he's modest; he probably honestly never expected it. Something that significant is bigger than a snap decision."

I wasn't defending Stan for the sole purpose of defending Stan. I was trying to protect Kyle in the only way I could—by giving him hope. I could only pray it wasn't in vain. I was struggling to give Stan the benefit of the doubt myself. It was hard to believe in someone who wasn't even acting like themselves.

Kyle flicked a baby carrot across his tray, sending the tiny piece of vegetation spiraling into his applesauce. It lodged itself into the center, point angled toward me like the nose of a snowman. I frowned, looking over his tray. Eating—or lack thereof—was also becoming a growing concern. Kyle's lunches had gone untouched the past six school days. Today made it seven. And that was seven too many by my standards. I knew what it was like to go hungry, and the concept of someone purposely foregoing food was pure ludicrous, especially when they were doing it out of self-pity. I wasn't going to stand for it.

I brought the cracker I was about to eat to Kyle's mouth instead, prodding his lips with the decoratively rippled edge. "Open up the tunnel, Ky. Here comes the choo-choo."

He fanned his lips out and blew, jerking away. "I'm not hungry," he said angrily, wiping his mouth on the back of his ivory-colored sleeve with unnecessary vigor.

My eyes narrowed. "Come on, Kyle. You can't do this to yourself just because _Stanley _feels like being a dickhole right now." I brought the cracker to his lips again. He batted it away.

"I can't help it! He means everything to me. He's my whole world and I'm never right without him."

I stared at him in the silence following his outburst, hiding the envy I felt behind cold eyes. "And what about me?" I asked plainly, flicking the cracker back onto the tray. It twirled like a top, then keeled over when it had spun itself out.

Kyle looked confused, his eyebrows arching together as if telepathically asking, _what the hell does that have to do with anything_? Misery stabbed icily through me. Maybe it had been arrogant of me to think I'd ever been anything to him besides a boredom-buster when Stan was unavailable.

But then carefully, _apologetically_, Kyle grasped one of my hands and squeezed, lowering his gaze.

"I'm sorry, Kenny. I never meant to make you feel like you didn't matter to me. I'm really grateful you're concerned at all about my petty little mishap. But I..." he paused to swallow, trying to uphold his composer. His expression wavered, strong for a moment, then crumbled completely. "I fucked everything up so bad." He covered his mouth with his hand, squeezing his eyes closed like he was trying to hold in vomit. His stomach convulsed with a lone, violent dry-sob.

I looked around helplessly. The cafeteria was too well lit; large and unmercifully public beneath the bright fluorescents. It felt more like a stadium, and Kyle would hate himself later if his meltdown was the game of the day. He hated gossip, and he hated it especially when it was regarding him. I pushed myself up and rounded the table, jumping to his rescue. He looked up at me just as I ripped him from the bench, startling him into swallowing back his emotion. I dragged him across the length of the room, dodging tables and stray students, not stopping for anyone who called our names or waved hello. We managed to escape unnoticed by Cartman, who was sitting two tables over, pouting openly because everyone was in such a foul mood and because he couldn't "flirt" with Wendy when Stan was hanging around her; he couldn't stomach it when they made plans to "hookup" in front of him.

Butters was a little harder to sneak by. He seemed to have Kenny radar; he always knew where I was, what I was doing, and who I was doing it with. He even had my entire class schedule pinned up in his locker next to a picture of us together at Casa Bonita. If any other person were that obsessed with me, I'm sure I would have been creeped out enough to report them to the local authorities. But this was simply Butters being Butters. In a way, it was kind of cute. But Jesus, was it fucking impractical when I wanted to be alone with someone. I couldn't count how many times Butters had screwed up potential opportunities I could have wooed—and possibly won over—Kyle. There were a few stray moments I wished desperately that I had it in myself to be angry with him. But with Butters, I just _couldn't_. He had the capability to walk all over me, and I considered myself lucky that he was too kind-hearted and too naïve to use that power to his advantage.

We almost ran into him at the threshold of the exit as he was throwing away his trash. I shoved Kyle against the wall, hiding us behind the vending machine, and peered around the corner at Butters. He put his tray in the appropriate space above the waster container, and as expected, turned back toward the table where Kyle and I had just been sitting. He faltered at our unexpected absence, frowning in obvious disappointment. Mashing his knuckles together twice, his eyes carefully swept over the cafeteria, then started off to find us. Or, more accurately, off to find _me_. I tugged Kyle out the door while Butters disappeared in the opposite direction.

There weren't any other students in the halls, but it still felt too risky and too awkward to discuss such personal issues in front of the science lab. The library was two doors back, tucked in a corner next to a set of bathrooms and a drinking fountain. I pushed Kyle into the tiny alcove, barricading him against the cream-colored drywall next to a plastic Caladium plant.

"Listen to me, Kyle," I said urgently, squeezing his shoulders between my hands. He blinked in response, unsure what to think of the peculiar spark in my voice. He didn't realize what incredible self-restraint I was practicing, otherwise we'd be in the bathroom having a live replay of the dry hump we experienced at Token's party several months ago. But this..._this _was actually a little more important than getting off. We could always do that later, and I fully intended to.

"You're a smart guy. I know you had to have mulled over every possible scenario that could have arisen before you told Stan how you felt. And I know you were aware of the chance that he may not feel something back, that he might even feel a little put off or uncomfortable about it."

"Of course I did," he said, sounding insulted. "But I didn't-"

"Factor in the possibility that he may feel too awkward to talk to you again."

The challenge drained from his eyes. "...Right."

"I think you're being an absolute pussy."

"Oh, _thanks_."

"You know Stan's going to talk to you again," I said, ignoring his sarcasm. "And the quickest way that's going to happen is if you show him that you can live with being just friends and that you're not going to pressure him into fucking you."

He didn't want to let go of the romantic hope, that much was obvious in the way he looked at me. But there was a conflict there, one that was fighting him to give it up. He already knew he had lost, and now he'd have to take on the difficult role of getting the hell over it.

"I'm not sure how to show him that when he won't even look at me," he said reluctantly. Maybe he didn't want to give up on Stan, but we both knew he'd do it to conserve the friendship, and that was the card I was going to play to get into his hot Jewish pants.

"Go out with me," I blurted, losing all tact. Bewilderment crossed his face, forming tiny confused wrinkles between his brow. It stung to know the concept of being with me was so foreign to him. It was obvious it had never crossed his mind. "It'll show Stan that you respect his feelings and that you're capable of moving forward."

"Oh, Kenny, I couldn't ask you to do that for me," he said, missing the point entirely.

"You're not asking me to do anything. _I'm _the one asking, and I'm not doing it as a favor to you." I released his shoulders and scooped his hands in mine, studying them carefully. Clean and gentle, yet somehow still unmistakably boyish. God, he was perfect. He was fucking perfect in every sense of the word. I looked back up at his eyes, the piercing green sending a surge of electric warmth straight to my dick. "From the bottom of my tarnished, perverted heart, I'm asking you to go out with me. This isn't some tacky come-on. I mean it."

He looked momentarily startled by my request. But Kyle—being the upstanding gentleman that he was—quickly pulled himself back together. He looked down at our interlocked hands with obvious uncertainty. He didn't know where this was coming from. "I don't know, Kenny."

But he did know. He was simply too polite to say he didn't want this. Fortunately, I was vain and believed I could get anything I wanted with a little charm. I was Kenny McCormick, after all; it didn't matter if I was from the slums of South Park, a pervert, and a player. Everyone wanted me, and I was sure Kyle wanted me, too. He just didn't realize it yet because he'd been too busy mooning over the _other _person everyone wanted. I was sure it would be a simple enough shift if only I put in a little effort, and for Kyle Broflovski, I was ready to go the distance if it meant I'd eventually have him naked and moaning beneath me.

"What's Stan got that I don't?" I challenged, grasping for straws at this point. "Our dicks are the same size."

"God, Kenny, that's not the reason I... It wouldn't matter to me if-"

"It's because of the way he dances, isn't it?" I asked, determined to pinpoint the reason. "I admit he _does _know how to move, especially his hips, but that doesn't automatically mean he could make you scream louder. I'm more experienced in that area."

Kyle bristled and pulled his hands away. "That's just one of the many reasons I'm not sure- I _am _sure that we wouldn't be good together. I wouldn't jump immediately into bed with you and I wouldn't tolerate my partner fulfilling carnal desires outside our relationship just because I won't give it up."

"And I full-heartedly respect that." I grabbed his hand again and sandwiched it eagerly between mine. "I'd practice abstinence for you. It's not like you plan on staying a virgin forever, right? I could wait."

He actually laughed at that, humorlessly, and somehow that made it all the more painful. "_You_? Abstinence? Come on. You wouldn't last a week."

"And, what? You think Stan could do a better job of it?"

"I'm certain he could." No hesitation. He didn't so much as bat an eyelash.

I couldn't believe he held Stan in such higher respect than me. My voice rose defensively, "And what makes you so sure? He's not a sinless saint like you_._"

"But he's not like _you_," He retorted, almost sneering the words.

"He flirts with everyone, including you, who he obviously doesn't even _want_—" I saw the hurt flicker through his eyes, profound and raw, but I was too offended to stop. "And he's still having casual sex with Wendy even though you could barely consider the two _friends. _How does that make him any more honorable than me?"

Kyle shook his head. "Stan's just confused. It's not some huge game like it is for you. He's a romantic and he needs that sort of affection. He gets it from Wendy occasionally, sure, but it always leaves him feeling guilty afterward. All he needs is someone who would give themselves to him as completely as he'd give himself to them."

"Someone like you," I concluded dryly.

He lifted his chin a notch, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "Someone like me."

I sighed, long and loud as I carefully constructed my next words. This was harder than I had expected it to be. Woe betide anyone misjudged the bullheaded mind of a Jewish Taurean.

"I know I'm promiscuous," I admitted softly. "But that doesn't make me incapable of loyalty. It's not fair to judge me on that when I've never been in an exclusive relationship in the first place. The truth is that you don't _know _what it would be like to have that with me. But I promise, Kyle," I stepped closer, placing his hand over my heart. He glanced briefly down at it, then nervously back into my eyes. "I wouldn't need anything else in the world if I had you."

"Kenny."

"_Please_, Kyle," I begged, pressing myself into him. He was slim but solid, perfectly sculpted beneath the warm fabric of his clothes. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the one thing I never thought I'd give up. "And just to prove how serious I am, how much that I want this, I want you to have this."

He looked down as I pressed it into his palm, eyes widening in disbelief. He knew what it was; a modest pocket watch that had been in my family for over one-hundred years. Made of real gold, it was the only thing in the McCormick family that had any actual value, and it was the only thing I'd never pawn, no matter how hungry or cold I got. Kyle gaped at it, turning his palm slowly up and back as it gleamed dully in the artificial light. His eyes darted back to mine, lips pursing together.

"Please, just give me a chance," I whispered, touching his cheek and wanting more. "I've never wanted anything as much as I want you. Not food, not money, not women. Not even-" I had to pause to swallow; it was surprisingly difficult to say. "—not even Butters Stotch."

Kyle choked, squeezing his eyes closed. "I want Stan," he whimpered, defiant. I was sure he'd have stomped his foot if he were ten years younger.

"I'll help you get over it," I said. He shook his head and tried to shove away. I caught his jawbone, bringing my lips dangerously close to his. "If you don't like it we can go back to being friends."

He stilled in my arms, momentarily contemplative, and opened his eyes slowly. "I would leave you for him," he said seriously. Tears glassed his eyes, glittering like liquid diamonds along the lower rims. "If he decided he wanted me, I would leave you for him."

It stung. It stung worse than any death I'd ever felt, but the surrender in his threat was deadly in its allure, poisonously tempting. I could have him so long as I was aware of this one condition: I could lose him in a heartbeat to my dearest friend.

And I didn't care. Good Lord, heaven help me, I didn't fucking care. Kyle—the nerdy, sexy, ill tempered, redheaded, morally restrained Jew—all mine.

At long last.

"I know you would," I said, and brought my lips to his.

* * *

Three days, Goddammit. Three days was all I got with Kyle Broflovski. True to his word, we never surpassed first base, and true to mine, I didn't pressure him. The shy rhythm of his tongue had me reeling with ecstasy, and, _God, _every kiss was like a tiny slice of heaven. I knew my patience with him would pay off in the long run, and until then I was content with what little he was willing to give me. It was all worth it to be able to call him mine.

Butters was naturally the first to learn of our exclusive relationship. He was like a puppy, always at my heals, waiting for me between classes. It took all of five minutes for my new status as "taken" to turn him into a perpetual mope. His eyes, normally gleaming with childish happiness, seemed to glaze over in a foggy haze, dull and dim and miserable. Something inside me longed to reach out to him, sooth the ache I had caused and make him smile again. But I couldn't be that person to him anymore, and I had to keep reminding myself that he'd get over me eventually, just like I was determined Kyle would soon get over Stan.

It was so easy to misjudge the power of emotion when you yourself were blinded by desire. How wrong I was to believe I could win Kyle's affections. How wrong we both were to assume Kyle's love was unrequited just because Stan had distanced himself. Someone as loveless as I was could easily play the game, assuming love was never involved. You can't fuck that up if it's genuine.

It was the beginning of the third day that I knew. Stan was standing by his locker in the morning, his face haggard and melancholy as he watched Kyle and I make our way down the hall, hand in hand. I had expected him to ignore us as he had the past several weeks, but he seemed to have forgotten to pretend that we didn't exist to him anymore.

I waved at him casually as we passed, and Kyle couldn't suppress his urge to look back, longing smoldering darkly in his eyes. To keep his mind off of it, I pushed him against my locker, attacking the skin from his chin to his collarbone with kisses. He allowed it hesitantly, his posture stiff and his hands resting lightly on my forearms. He was still uncomfortable touching me this way; it was all so new to him.

_Eventually, _I told myself, sucking and nipping at the curve of neck. Kyle was morally structured, that was for damn sure, but he was still a guy. It wouldn't be long before my mouth and hands were inching across the rest of that warm, creamy skin. Until then, I'd have to make do with what little he'd give and jack-off like mad in the evenings to keep myself sane and faithful. I couldn't fucking wait to ravish him.

He was branded with a nice sized hickey by the time the bell rang. I pulled away reluctantly, pausing to kiss him warmly on the mouth before retaking his hand to walk him to homeroom.

I was surprised to see that Stan was still by his locker, watching us with haunted eyes. He trembled visibly in his dark blue sweater, penitent and unstable in his misery. But even that didn't really sink in. It wasn't until he closed his locker and turned away, pain curling his beautiful face, that I knew. You'd have to be within an inch of brain-dead not to see it. The heartache was poignant, engulfing him like smog.

But I was selfish, and I clung to my pretentious relationship with Kyle the rest of the school day—hugging him, kissing him, holding his hand. Enjoying my last moments because I knew it was all over. Because... I knew what I had to do. Maybe I had always been selfish, but I'd always loved my friends more than I'd loved myself.

Sometimes having a big heart really sucked monkey balls.

* * *

I didn't bother knocking. Normally I did, though I knew none of the Marsh's would think twice if I barged in. I liked to use my manners at all times; it ensured my charm stretched beyond my friends and straight into the hearts of their parents. This way, I could persuade them to let us do practically anything we wanted, from extended curfews to chaperone free parties. Shelia Broflovski was the only one I hadn't completely won over, but I had been working on it. Especially now that it was _her _son I wanted to bone.

Sharon Marsh wasn't home, or at least no where in sight, and Randy was snoozing on the couch in his underwear, the dim glow of a ballgame flickering across his slumped figure. I traced the familiar path up the stairs to Stan's room, pausing momentarily outside the door to roll my eyes at the quiet sound of woe-is-me, suicidal music drifting through the sliver of space between the carpet and the door. I let myself in unannounced, kicking the door closed behind me to warrant quality seclusion.

Stan was sitting at his desk, his forehead resting against his open palms in the universal pose of stress. He barely glanced at me before sighing and looking away again, fingers digging into his bangs. He clearly didn't want to have this talk any more than I did, and that pissed me the fuck off. _He _wasn't the one who had something to lose.

I made my way over to the desk and leaned against it. "You're in love with Kyle," I said simply, delving straight into the heart of the matter.

He blinked slowly, staring sightless down at his desktop. "So are you," he answered brokenly.

"But he wants _you _back."

He hesitated a beat, then shook his head dismissively. "So does everyone else in South Park."

"And so we get to the _real _problem," I said. Stan shoved himself up angrily, and I caught his elbow before he could stalk away. "Are you seriously that much of a chick? You're pouting and not talking to us because you think Kyle is just another groupie?"

"That's not what I said!" he snapped, wrenching his arm free. His glare was diamond hard.

"That's the problem, Stanley. You haven't said _anything _about this whole damn thing!" I stabbed my finger at the window, toward Kyle's house. "You've left Kyle in the dark with nothing but a load of dead air between you. Do you have any idea at all what this is doing to him? What an emotional _mess _he's become? He thinks you're disgusted by him, and I can't blame him. I'd think the same thing if my best friend couldn't even look at me anymore!"

Stan closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as he rubbed circles into his sinuses. He didn't seem to be doing much better than Kyle was; though he seemed to be more tense than drained. What Kyle had said was true—they were never right without the other, just listless souls lacking purpose, just drifting through the sea of life. My stomach curled enviously at the bond I'd never have.

"I love him, Kenny," said Stan. His voice had lost all its edge. "I've been in love with him for so long, I can't ever remember a time when I wasn't. That's why I could never get things right with Wendy. It's why I can't get things right with anyone. No one will ever make me feel as deeply as Kyle makes me feel. It's an impossibility."

For a moment, I thought of Butters, his cute smile flashing with heartbreaking clarity across my mind. Some corner of my heart trembled, quaking painfully at the reminder of his angelic gray eyes. I didn't want to think about him, and I was more than grateful when Stan continued, successfully burying the emotions again.

"But it would hurt too much to..." he closed his eyes, swallowing hard. "Kenny, what if it's all an illusion for him?"

"What are you talking about?"

Stan opened his eyes, the deep blue a little too bright against the red sting of tears. He reached an unsteady hand toward me and cupped my jaw, caressing my cheek with his thumb. I felt my knees start to melt.

"Wh-what are you-"

"Shhh." He stepped closer, his movements sultry, dark somehow, and brushed his lips in an almost-kiss against mine. I whimpered at the sensation, my knees buckling instantly under his magic. His hands moved up to catch me by the elbows, haul me closer into him. I grasped his forearms and steadied myself in his embrace. His breath lingered over my mouth, warm and fragrant, laden with seduction. The erratic thump of my heartbeat filled my head.

"That's why," Stan said, loitering a moment before he moved away, dejected. "Whatever this...this _thing _is that I have that makes it so easy for me to seduce people. Kyle's my best friend. We spend so much time together, we touch each other a lot, I flirt with him just because it's all I thought I'd ever be able to get. Of course he thinks he's in love with me. He's under the influence of this ridiculous _curse _I have. It's not real, Kenny."

I blew out a long breath, trying to calm my blazing hormones, and nodded. His logic was sensible. Like Stan, I could make anyone fall in love with me. It was flattering, of course, but when every person I encountered dissolved into a puddle at my feet, it seemed to lose its authenticity somehow and after a while...meant nothing. It all felt so artificial.

Stan moved to sit on his bed, and I followed suit, my thigh pressing companionably against his. I patted his knee warmly. "It's real, Stan," I told him, ignoring the way the words bit into my stomach. "Everyone else might be under your spell, but Kyle's love is real."

He looked up at me, questioning ablaze in soft flames just below the surface of his doubt. "How do you know?"

I smiled sadly, letting my hand fall still against his leg as I searched his ceiling in thought. "Kyle's been my boyfriend for three days. I've actually been putting in real effort to make him melt, make him moan. To make him...to make him look at me the way he's looked at you his whole life." I looked back at Stan, and something about the wonder residing so innocently on his face helped push me onward. It hurt like hell, but Stan would never make me feel this way on purpose, and as much as I hated it, he deserved to be happy. He deserved Kyle. "You can charm anyone in school, male or female, and I can come along five minutes later and charm the same person all over again. You know that. Any person, that is, _except _Kyle. Because even if Kyle is charmed by you, and I know he is, it's grounded by love. _Real _love. Something not even my sex appeal can penetrate. There's no moving him, Stan. He's yours. He always has been."

Stan blinked away some tears. "What about you? We're tight, Kenny. If it wasn't for Kyle, _you'd _be my best friend. I don't want this to come between us."

I had to smile. I knew somewhere in that oversized heart of his that part of this was him not wanting to hurt me. Stan was the king of self-sacrifice; everyone else's happiness always came before his did.

"You know me," I said, faking a smile. "Kyle's hot, but I can move on. At least if you get with him, I wont have to compete with you when I'm trying to get some action at a party."

Stan smiled, buying into my lie. No one would believe that Kenny McCormick would actually care enough about someone to become heartbroken over it. And in a way, I guess that's how I preferred it.

"Stan?"

Both our eyes snapped to the door, startled by Kyle's voice calling from the other side. He knocked softly, and I bolted from the bed. "Don't screw it up," I hissed at Stan, hiding myself in the dark confines of his closet. I kept the door cracked slightly, watching invisibly from across the room.

The bedroom door opened slowly. Kyle froze on the threshold when his eyes met Stan's, looking appropriately nervous and displaced. He wrung his hands together in an almost painfully Butters-like fashion.

"Kyle," Stan said, tender surprise lacing his voice as he stood. He lingered awkwardly by the bedside, but still somehow managed to maintain his cool aura. Kyle finally stepped into the room, leaving the door wide open. A quick escape. I'd never seen so much strain between them before, such formality.

"I'm sorry, Stan," He finally said, rubbing the back of his neck.

"For what?" Stan asked. "for actually having the guts to admit something I never could?"

Kyle just stared at him, confused. "What do you mean?"

"I want you, Kyle," he said simply, breaking the ice. Breaking my heart. The curtness between them evaporated noticeably. "I just didn't know what to do about it because I thought... I thought if you had any feelings for me that it'd just be some crush like Wendy and I-"

"You want me?" Kyle whispered, cutting him off.

"Yes," Stan answered right away, then smiled and repeated the same words Kyle had said to him, "I'm deeply, madly, desperately, honestly, completely in love. With _you_, Kyle."

Kyle needed no further persuasion. He was across the room in an instant, grabbing frantically for Stan's sweater, pressing their lips together and melting to pieces at the sensation. My stomach lurched painfully as I watched the way his tongue danced with Stan's, rhythmic and flawlessly, every ounce of reservation gone. He hadn't ever let go like that with me. He hadn't ever kissed back with such enthusiasm, such passion. He never melted in my arms the way he had already dissolved in Stan's.

My fingers curled bitterly into the door, scraping jagged lines into the paint. Several tiny pieces of wood came loose under the pressure; slivers that jammed and stuck underneath my nails. My breath hissed through my teeth at the pain, but it was already forgotten. Kyle had drilled it into my head that he wasn't easy and I'd have to go to incredible lengths to get into his pants. He failed miserably to mention that he was a complete closet slut for Stan. I bet Stan wouldn't be told to slow down if he tried to touch Kyle's ass.

Naturally, Stan was the first to pull back, turning his head away. Kyle kissed a fervent trail from his cheek to his throat, his breath already coming out in labored gasps. His hands—those beautiful, perfect, artistic hands—cupped Stan's jaw to bring his mouth back down. They kissed slowly, but somehow barely restrained; eyes closed, mouths open, hands grasping desperately for each other.

"Play with me, Stan," Kyle whispered against his lips when he'd finally managed to break the kiss.

"Kyle," Stan whimpered, the warning bland. He kept casting fleeting glances in my direction, and I knew he was still worried about bruising my ego. I wondered momentarily what he'd do if he knew it was a heart-wound the salt was being rubbed into and not some stupid pride issue. It was that tiny concern for my well-being that stopped me from hating him completely.

"Please," Kyle begged, pausing to drop a hot kiss on the corner of Stan's mouth. "I've waited for you for so long. I sat by and said nothing, party after party while you made-out with everyone else but me. I _want _you, Stan. Please, let this be my turn." His hands lost their shyness; he was caressing up Stan's shirt, stroking his stomach in teasing little circles, then moved them down to squeeze his ass. Stan grunted.

"Your first time shouldn't be this way, Ky," he argued gently, trying to pry Kyle loose. But Kyle wasn't having any of it; he clung tighter.

"I know, and it won't be," he said. "We don't have to go all the way. Just play with me." He sucked Stan's lower lip into his mouth and nudged their hips together. "C'mon Stan, make me yours."

Stan moaned, his eyes fluttering to stay open. He was trying hard to stand firm, not wanting to hurt me by putting on a show with the person who was still technically my boyfriend. After all, it wasn't like we'd broken up yet. But he was quickly losing the battle; I could see his evident arousal pressed against Kyle's. And who could blame him, really? Kyle's hands were still exploring, running tenderly over Stan's physique, teasing him, wanting him. _Needing _him.

I slipped carefully from the closet, crossing the room on silent feet. Kyle's back was luckily still toward the door, and even if it weren't, he seemed to be too busy sucking the sensitive skin behind Stan's ear to notice anything going on around him. Stan opened his eyes—slanted and lustful as they were—to peer at me over Kyle's shoulder. His hands were unconsciously gripping his ass, clutching him closer.

I smiled as best I could, giving him a weak salute as I closed myself out of the room. I was vaguely aware of the fact that I'd just voluntarily passed up the opportunity to watch two of the hottest people I'd ever seen in some live, heavy petting action. But the thought wasn't arousing—It burned. Somewhere inside my soul, something was burning, cracking dryly around the edges, and for the first time in my life, I honestly resented Stan's existence.

I held myself together long enough to make it out the door. It wasn't raining, but the scent was heavy and sweet in the air. Storm clouds were rolling in a lint-colored blanket across the sky, and every once in a while I felt a spattered of wetness across my face, cold and menacing. I walked frozenly down the sidewalk, passing four houses before my breath became labored with emotion. I came to a stop at the corner intersecting Stan's street from Kyle's, my breath heaving uncomfortably in my chest, and leaned heavily against a lamppost.

It felt like someone was squeezing my lungs in iron hands. I closed my eyes, struggling to take slow breaths, to get some sort of oxygen into my body. Lightheadedness was consuming me quickly, dizzying through my brain. I touched a hand to my nauseous stomach and choked dryly.

"Kenny?"

A gentle hand touched my shoulder, and I spun around, frightened by the unexpected presence. Butters flinched and jumped back, blinking wide, startled eyes.

"Butters," I whispered after a moment, when the shock wore off.

"What happened?" He asked. It was just one of many things I had always liked about him. He never asked stupid, obvious questions like "_are you okay_?" when you clearly weren't. He just dove head first into the issue, no bullshitting around.

I pressed a hand to my eyes, sighing. That's when I realized how bad I was trembling. "Kyle left me," I managed to say, my voice quivering with emotion. Fuck, I was seconds from tears. I hadn't cried since I was nine-years-old, damn him. _Damn _him.

Butters didn't say a word. He simply reached out and gathered me into his arms. And, _God_, it made me feel worse and better all at the same time. Worse because he cared so much for me and I had hurt him so badly, so willingly. He had wanted me for so long, waited so patiently while I seduced classmate after classmate, always glossing him over for reasons I'm sure he didn't understand. But he never complained, he never got angry. He never made me feel like shit for slowly breaking his heart to pieces over the years.

And better because his fingers were gently stroking the back of my neck in just the right way. Because he was so warm and smelled so good. He was smaller than Kyle, softer than Kyle. But the electricity of his touch was as shockingly powerful, and his body was more receptive to mine, fit better. He wasn't ridged and reluctant to touch me. He didn't stiffen when I put my arms around him and pulled him closer. He arched his neck toward me, invitingly, when I nuzzled against him, instead of arching away.

"Butters," I whispered into the crook of his neck, and sank my teeth gingerly into his skin. A small, victimized noise escaped his throat. His hold on me changed, shifting from comfortingly dominate to helplessly spellbound. He wanted me. He wanted me so badly I was almost positive he'd let me take him right here and now if I tried. Public or not, to hell with his parents finding out he'd had gay sex on the corner of Hackney and Mayberry Avenue and grounding him for it. He'd sit in his room and smile because he'd think it had been worth it. He'd think _I _was worth it.

I trailed slow kisses over his throat and chin to his mouth. He kissed back hungrily, his fingers curling desperately into the back of my shirt. Butters excelled in the art of making-out. He'd been shy when I'd first started out by trapping him in the corner of the locker room everyday, but he caught on quick, and it was a mere couple of days before he knew exactly how to crank up the heat between us. He demonstrated that now, teasing me slowly, hotly. I shuddered and retracted my tongue, dropping a few more kisses on his mouth before pulling back. His eyelids were heavy, and he opened them with slow reluctance. The rain-gray irises looked darker somehow, drunk with desire.

He was ready to fuck.

I strummed my index finger against his lips, looking over his surreally angelic face. An angel trembling with barely controlled lust.

"Are your parents home?" I asked, breathless. He shook his head, and I pressed another kiss to his lips. "Want to play?"

* * *

Butters was..._amazing_.

He had been even more willing than I had thought.

If he had it his way, I'd have fucked him the minute the door closed behind us. But I wanted him to be better prepared than that, and I didn't want just a quick lay. Kyle had teased me for far too long, and damnit, I was going to take my damn sweet time enjoying myself.

Butters was beside himself with impatience. I could understand his side; he'd been begging me to keep going during our over-the-clothes foreplay sessions for over a year. He didn't want me to tease him to full-arousal and than leave like I normally did; he wanted me to finish him off this time, and I fully intended to.

We had already been playing for an hour when I had learned Butters knew how to use him mouth in more good ways than just one, and that he was also a moaner. I had to hold him down to the mattress when I took him between my lips, which wasn't as long as I would have liked. He was at the brink already, and I had to keep pausing to delay his release, gently shushing him as he writhed against the restraints of my hands on his hips and begged me not to stop.

I knew he was ready after another round of frenching, both of us panting, our hair a tangled, sweaty mess. I eased into it slowly, kissing him soothingly on the neck as he relaxed to accommodate my size. He fit me like a glove, warmly, perfectly. He was the first lover I'd had face to face, him on his back and helpless beneath me, staring into each others eyes. The release was quick for us both, too quick, and we both cried out at the rippling pleasure that shot through us.

Now I was regretting it.

In the afterglow of lovemaking, Butters curled warmly against my side, I wished I could take it all back. It wasn't that it wasn't good; it was incredible. And that was the reason in and of itself. Butters was everything I could ever ask for and more. He was absolutely everything that I wanted. And I loved him. God, did I ever love him. And that _love _love, that romantic kind of love, that _in _love...was right there. It was right fucking there, swimming just along the banks of my heart.

But so was Kyle, and he was clouding up my mind, making everything inside of me hurt all over again. I wanted Kyle. I wanted fucking Kyle and I wasn't even entirely sure why. And Butters deserved so much more than that. I was remembering far too late why I never gave in to what he wanted so badly. This wasn't fair to him; in so many ways this wasn't fair.

"Butters, I have to go," I said, gently waking him from the light snooze he had drifted into. He yawned and snuggled closer against me, his body soft and warm.

"Please don't go yet," he said with a sigh. "I don't wanna be alone."

I briefly squeezed my eyes closed, trying not to let that get to me. "I'm sorry, baby. I've got to go." I put my hand on his shoulder, keeping him in place as I slid out of bed. Butters sat up, looking tiny and delicious amid the tangled sheets. I busied myself with my clothes, not wanting to look at him for too long. If I did, I'd want him again, and that was a mistake I couldn't afford to make twice.

"When will you be back?" He asked.

I hiked my jeans up over my hips. "I'm not coming back. Not for this anyway."

"Oh gee, I wasn't very good at it, was I? I'm awful sorry, Kenny. I didn't mean to-"

"No," I cut him off, forcing myself to look into his eyes. "You were fine, Butters. It was good. It was _really _good. Whoever is lucky enough to end up with you is going to have no cause for complaints."

"Then why don't you wanna come back?" he asked sadly.

It hurt. It fucking _hurt _to hear him ask me that, and Kenny McCormick didn't do pain. I took a breath and jammed my hoodie over my head, forcing myself to be a little more firm. He wasn't going to let this go if I didn't crush him completely. I was already in too deep.

"Because I'm in love with Kyle."

Butters face fell, although I didn't think that was quite possible at that point. He seemed to be struggling to wrap that bit of information around his brain, to process it and come up with something to say. But I didn't give him the opportunity, because I didn't want to hear it. The devastation so plainly on his face was all my heart could take.

"I care about you a lot, Buddy," I said. "and I never wanted to hurt you like this, but I have to be honest with you. You're so honest with everyone else that I think it's the least you deserve. I want Kyle. I'm sorry I used you to feel better about him. It was wrong and I'd take it back if I could, but I can't, and I can only hope we can still be friends after this. But it can't happen again. We have to put it behind us."

Tears quickly filled his eyes. I had expected him to beg me not to go, to reconsider what we could have together. That was the way Butters usually was with me and I had grown accustomed to his never-ending affection. Instead he gritted his teeth, his eyebrows drawing dangerously together.

"You're a dirty asshole," he said simply, angrily. I blinked in surprised, shocked he had it in himself to call me something even marginally vile.

"I-"

"No." He cut me off. "No, you listen to me, Mister. I've waited an awful long time for you, and I won't regret what happened even if you tell me you hate me. But _you_," he shook his head sadly, angry tears burning trails down his cheeks. "One of these days, you're gonna love me. You're gonna love me and you're gonna be sorry you ever pushed me away."

I felt every organ in my body freeze. His eyes were like I'd never seen them before; hard, cruel. Frosty and numbing like ice. The conviction of his words struck me deeply, and for a heart-stopping moment, his words felt like law, like a _commandment_. It _would _happen, and there wasn't a goddamned thing I could do to stop it.

I stepped backward, unblinking as I fumbled behind me for the doorknob.

"...I'm sorry, Butters."

* * *

My dad had been picking up extra shifts and side jobs the past two years, and as the financial stability in our home increased, so did the frequency of balanced, filling meals. I hadn't gone to bed hungry a day in over ten months, and tonight Mom had made my favorite: Spaghetti and meatballs, garlic toast, and milk. A true feast at the McCormick residence.

But I wasn't hungry.

I hid away in my room and stared listlessly up at the ceiling from my bed, Butters' words ringing like a haunted melody through my head. It was depressing to think that he was probably right. One of these days, I was going to be more sorry I let him go than I'd ever be able to say. One of these days, I was going to love him more than I ever thought I was capable of loving. I could feel it deep within myself, laying dormant underneath all the other bullshit in my life. I just didn't know how to unfreeze it, how to let it grow.

I didn't know how Kyle had reached me the way he did, but part of me resented him for it. I didn't want to feel this much, to hurt this much. I had carefully and strategically repressed my feelings for Butters because I didn't ever want to know the pain of a broken heart. God damn Kyle for going and doing just that. God damn him for making me fall in love. God damn him for making me hurt Butters the way I did.

The hinges of my door squeaked open, startling me from the sleep I didn't realize I was falling into. I glanced up at the doorway, feeling my heart lurch as Kyle stepped in and closed the door behind him.

"Hey, Kenny," he greeted softly.

He looked too well-kissed, too whole, too happy. It had been four hours since I'd left him at Stan's house, and it didn't look like they'd let a minute of that time go to waste. I looked away.

"Your mom made spaghetti," he said, as if I wasn't aware. The whole damn house smelled like The Olive Garden. I felt him move closer when I didn't respond, stopping just beside the bed. "Listen, Kenny-"

"You're leaving me for Stan."

Kyle hesitated, surprised I had already found out. "Well, I...yeah, I am."

"Great." I shrugged, but the motion was jerky and moody. "What do you want, a congratulatory fuck?"

"I told you this would happen if Stan ever decided he wanted me," he snapped. "and you didn't care."

"I cared, I just didn't think it would happen."

"Well, it did."

"Obviously."

"What's that supposed to mean anyway?" He asked bitingly. "How did you already know about us?"

For fucks sake, he was already calling them an _us_. It was sickening. "I was hiding in the closet when you got together. I had gone over to talk to Stan about why he was avoiding you when he so obviously wanted to fuck you, and you showed up." Kyle said nothing, and I finally looked up at him, angry. His eyes were overflowing with pity, and that only pissed me off more. "So how is he at fucking, Kyle? Did it live up to your expectations or are you sorry you didn't ride me when you had the chance?"

"We didn't have sex." He snarled. "You know I'm not that type of person."

"Not with _me _anyway."

"Not with Stan either."

"Could have fooled me."

"What are you so bitter about?" Kyle yelled, finally reaching his breaking point. "That Stan will get into my pants and you wont? So the fuck what, Kenny? There's plenty of people who would kill for a night in your bed. We're supposed to be friends, and I'd appreciate it if you thought of me as a something more than someone Stan beat you to!"

I lurched upright, grabbing the drawstrings of his hoodie—of _Stan's _hoodie, Goddammit—and yanked him forward, bringing our faces an inch apart. He lost his balance and stumbled a little, grabbing onto my hands for support.

"I think of you as a hell of a lot more than that, Kyle. I was willing to give up everyone and everything for you because not only do I think of you as more than a friend, I think of you as more than a lover. I wanted to actually be with you, _exclusively_, and I thought I had that. I _did _have that for a while and I've never been so goddamn happy in my life, even if you probably ran to the bathroom to brush your fucking teeth every time I kissed you. So excuse me if I'm a little less than ecstatic that you get to ride off into the sunset on a white stallion with _Stanley _ass fucking you along the way." I released him just as abruptly and dropped my face into my hands.

Kyle was quiet for a long moment, then placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. "Hey," he said, suddenly calm. "You mean a lot to me too, Kenny. More than you probably realize. I know you're hurt right now, and that's understandable. But you're going to get over this. It's great that you're finally willing to try meaningful relationships, and I'm flattered that I'm the first person you thought of. But I'm not the only trustworthy person out there."

I dropped my hands and laughed sadly, shaking my head. He didn't get it. He didn't fucking get it.

"You should find someone you have romantic feelings for. You're honestly really great, Kenny. If it wasn't for Stan, I'd be more than happy to give you a chance and see where it could go. But take it from me, it's so much better when you're with someone you actually feel romantically toward."

I closed my eyes, heaving a deep sigh. I was too exhausted to try to argue. What would be the point anyway? He had Stan. There was no swaying him now.

"Here," he said, pulling one of my hands up. He uncurled my fingers and dropped something round and heavy into my palm. "Give it to someone you truly love." I looked up into his eyes questioningly, and he squeezed the object between our hands before releasing it.

My heart sunk when I looked down, finding the pocket watch I'd given him resting soundly in my possession. When I looked back up, he was already gone.

"... But I already did," I told the empty room.

I turned onto my side and curled slowly into the fetal position, clutching the watch to my chest. I trembled brokenly with the onset of sobs, and slowly, one by one, the tears finally began to fall.

* * *

To be continued! Please review. :)

_-Bratchild3_


	5. Kaleidoscope

**A/N: **Random update or what?

Okay guys I have been CRAVING a good, long, multi-chaptered, complex, well written StanxKyle. I can't even express how badly. I'm having trouble finding any, so I took my want out on this chapter as it seems to be my most popular that I have dropped in this fandom.

…BTW none are actually dropped, it's just that real life gets in the way of my writing fun things.

Seriously, I could also go for some Bunny. Some K2. Some Stenny. *loveslovesloves*

If you suggest to me a Kyman it better be REALLY REALLY REALLY good. I mean SUPER AMZAING PERFECTLY AWESOMELY good. Because I really hate that pairing.

IF YOU HAVE SUGGESTIONS FOR FICS THAT MEET THAT CRITERIA PLEASE PM ME. …I'd rather you didn't review just to solicit your own writing. I would be happy to read it, but be kind: Review this and then PM me with fic suggestions.

Also, next chapter, which is already about 1/3 of the way completed, is when the story really takes off. It's like… one of the main turning points or something. Stick with it, review, tell me your thoughts and feelings and all that jolly stuff.

* * *

XXX

**Chapter 5: Kaleidoscope**

It was the envy that did me in. The most lethal emotion of them all, infectious like a worm; white and slick, embedding itself into the deepest part of my gut and feeding off every respectable ounce of sensibility I possessed. It was an incurable disease, an invisible parasite, and it turned me completely, poisonously against one of the most important people in my life.

Make no mistake: I loved Stan. I had _always _loved Stan, and that would never go away. That was true no matter how it looked from the outside, when glares and profanity directed toward him became more and more frequent as the weeks turned to months and months into years, all melding together in a black kaleidoscope of malice and twisted resentment. And Kyle was at the center of it all, unaware and unaffected by the dark patterns sifting and changing, creating a gothic, stained glass haven around my heart that he couldn't escape and Stan couldn't penetrate.

But as my subconscious premeditatedly waged war against Stan, it did nothing to disrupt the way time continued to delicately stitch a gold-laced bond between them, interweaving their souls until their hearts had become one seamless fabric. And when their bodies followed suit, coming together and interlocking in the most intimate and loving of ways… that'swhen the sheath of glass suspending my abhorrence of Stan and preserving the fragile structure of our friendship suddenly _exploded, _shards of metallic fury and blood-red hatred swallowing my tolerance and dissolving my sensibly conserved geniality. It was suddenly all so clear, so _vivid. _

Stan was the enemy. Stan was _shit. _Stan no right to hold Kyle's heart, to touch him, to kiss him, to take his body to pleasure his own. He didn't deserve Kyle; he'd done nothing to earn his love. He _was _nothing, and yet he was _everything_. Everything Kyle wanted. Everything Kyle needed…

And everything that stood in my way.

* * *

X X X

Three years later, on an especially shitty afternoon, Butter's soft cries of pleasure traveled through the walls of the apartment we shared with Kyle and Stan. I froze as I came through the door, already tugging off my parka.

"The _hell_?"

"My words exactly," Kyle called out to me.

I wrenched the rest of my parka off and flung it at the coat rack, too excited Kyle was already home to care where it landed. I followed the direction of his voice into the living room. He was sprawled on his stomach along the couch in a thermal long sleeve and loose-fitting jeans. A text book was sprawled out in front of him, green highlighter between his fingers.

"Who's in there?" I asked, pointing toward the hallway, although Kyle didn't bother looking up.

"Craig," he said. "Who else?"

Craig, that asshole. I had no idea what Butters sudden fascination with him was, but I wasn't extremely pleased by it. This had been going on for weeks; you'd think one of them was liable to get bored eventually.

"Sounds like we're going to have to invest in some earplugs." I said.

"Yeah, no shit. Try listening to that for nearly an hour," Kyle said, pausing to highlight a sentence. "I hope Stan gets home soon; I'm horny as fuck."

"Butters made you horny?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

Kyle finally looked up at me, his mouth a grim line. "Not Butters personally, just the sound of sex amplified in the background. It's like smelling fresh-baked cookies. After a while, you start to crave it."

"I can take care of that for you."

"Oh, aren't you hilarious." He capped the highlighter and pushed himself upright.

My eyes followed his shirt as he stood, bunched around his waist, exposing a good portion of ivory skin above the hem of his smoke-grey corduroy pants and quickly disappearing as the gravity pulled the fabric back into place. He straightened it out, scooped up his book and crossed the room to the computer desk in the corner, piling each item in a neat stack beside the printer.

"Guess who called us today."

I titled my head a little, getting the best possible view of his ass that I could. "Who?"

"That wasn't a guess."

I jerked upright when he turned around, frozen for a moment as he smirked at me. My heart convulsed and then shuttered, sending a mudslide of goose bumps across my skin. I quickly scanned my brain's database of acquaintances, then chose at random.

"Your mother."

Kyle frowned. "My mother calls every single day. This is someone we haven't heard from in a while."

My attention sputtered for a moment, held captive by the ever-hypnotic gleam of his eyes, and finally shifted and clicked into the conversation. My eyes widened as the wheel of faces in my head spun again and slowly came to a stop.

"Not Cartman," I said, wary but halfway optimistic.

Kyle's smirk widened into the perfect blend of a grin and a grimace, equally as revolted as he was delighted.

Butters, Kyle, Stan and I currently resided in Wyoming, close to the Colorado border. It was about an hour and a half drive from Denver, and about three hours from South Park. The idea had, amazingly, been Butters'. The rest of us had been hell-bent on the East coast because it was furthest away from South Park, but Butters had cheerfully announced he was applying to several universities in Wyoming and we were dumbasses if we didn't.

Turns out he was right. Wyoming was close enough to Colorado that their parent's wouldn't be inclined to buy airline tickets to visit, thereby staying for days or weeks on end, and yet it was far enough away that they couldn't drop by whenever they felt like it.

Kyle had burned his already signed, sealed, and dated applications and took out a bunch to all the same colleges as Butters. Of course, Stan and I would jump on whatever bandwagon Kyle was on.

Cartman, however, had followed Wendy to Princeton. That could have been Kyle and Butter's as well, but neither of them seemed to care.

"What did he want?" I asked, more eager now.

Kyle opened his mouth, looked thoughtfully to the side, then closed it again on a sigh. "He…wanted me to check the mail."

"Check the _mail_?" I felt my eyebrow involuntarily arch.

Kyle's eyes met mine, the tiny smile playing about his lips again. He reached into his pocket, digging around for a moment, and finally pulled out a small, silver-laced envelope.

"You may want to sit down before you open this."

I ripped it out of his hand, plunging my fingers beneath the flap. I pulled out a shimmering piece of girly-looking stationary, trimmed with the same silver lace as the envelope. My heart kicked up as I took in the fairytale font and wine glasses on the cover, exclaiming, "You are invited!" in an almost nauseating pile of glitter.

My gaze snapped back up to Kyle's, eyes swimming in watery confusion, flavored with a hint of shock. There was _no way; _not _Cartman, _of all people…

Kyle crossed one arm over his chest and covered his mouth with the opposite hand, attempting and failing to hide his grin. I looked back down, scanning over the contents and reading them aloud:

_Like the leaves on a summer  
breeze  
our hearts are uplifted by love  
It's with joy that we,  
Wendy Testaburger  
and  
Eric Cartman  
pledge our love as one  
on Saturday, the seventh of July  
two thousand twelve  
at two o'clock in the afternoon  
Holy Rosary Catholic Church  
3355 Oak View Drive  
Denver, Colorado._

Kyle burst into laughter, and I blinked down at it, stupefied, then flipped it closed and worked it back into the envelope.

"Eric Cartman is getting married," I said, just to test the feel of the words on my tongue.

Kyle grimaced again. "It's hard not to think about what the entails-Eric Cartman's wedding _night_. Naked and sweaty and-" he broke off on a full-body shudder, then snatched the envelope from my fingers and sent it spiraling back onto the table.

"I'm thinking more about what it will entail for _us," _I said, smirking as Kyle looked back at me with a questioning. "Dates, dancing, wine," I plucked a sweater from the arm of the couch, (fuck it even if it _was _Stan's, it would still serve its purpose) and looped the arms around Kyle's neck. "Formal wear."

"What are you-"

"I've never been able to knot ties." I tugged him closer, leaving only enough room for our clothes to whisper against each other with each movement. Kyle's arms shot up to grasp mine, steadying himself. "Practice makes perfect. Right?"

He blinked, apparently stunned by the gesture as I began to make a slow attempt at knotting the arms of the sweater.

"Um, Kenny?"

"Maybe if I just-" I crossed the sleeves and gave an experimental tug, yanking him closer. I felt the air rush out of him with an "oomph" as his chest slammed against mine.

It was such a blatant lie; I knew Kyle must have seen through it. I was the one who had knotted all our ties and threaded the carnations into our shirts for prom. Cartman was too lazy to care, Kyle had made a sloppy attempt, and Stan was going to take a page from his fathers' book and wear a clip-on. It was up to me to save the day, as was custom in our group. They had no suave really, not one of them. Then again, I was the only one who truly _had _to have it. It was all I had going for me, after all.

Kyle knew that about me, and he damn well knew I knew how to tie a simple knot. I was surprised he didn't point that out, shove my chest to knock me back and make his escape. Instead he stood perfectly still, crushed up against me, watching my eyes with a strange mixture of surprise and curiosity, shot through with tiny shards of pity. I felt my heartbeat decelerate to a hard throb as I locked my gaze with his, my fingers slowing to move in a mesmerizing dance of lingering seduction as they worked at the sweater.

"I remember," I said, making a loop of the sleeve. "I just have to slide inside here and..._pull_."

The tug drew his face a bit closer, and I could feel the murmur of his breath against my lips. I let the makeshift tie fall against his chest, and then moved my hand up, just barely grazing his jaw, inching forward, moving my lips closer to his. Just another centimeter and—

"You guys aren't going to believe this," Stan's voice shattered the atmosphere, and Kyle jerked away from me as the door banged closed in the foyer.

"Sonofabitch," I muttered, stepping back and raking a hand down the back of my neck.

Stan had the worst goddamned timing possible. Or best, I suppose, if you wanted to see it from _his _side. I _didn't _though; Stan was a bastard.

Kyle yanked the sweater off his neck and flung it back at the chair, my tedious flirtations all but forgotten as Stan appeared in the doorway, brandishing his cell phone.

"I just got a call from Cartman, and he's-"

"Getting married," I hissed, glaring as Kyle moved in for a welcome kiss. Innocent enough, reserved for company's sake, but I still hated it. "Yeah, we know."

Stan floundered under the crippling heat of my rudeness, freezing for a moment, then blinked twice. "Well...yeah. How did you-?"

"He sent us a formal invite," Kyle said, his tone much kinder than mine.

Stan was still looking at me as Kyle retrieved the envelope for him. He took it absently, a shade of pain crossing his face before finally looking down at it.

I jammed my hands into my pockets and looked away, directing the blaze of my resentment at a spot on the arm of the couch. I wasn't going to be overcome by the spark of guilt licking at my conscience. Hell no. It didn't matter what kind of puppy-in-the-rain look he gave me, I wouldn't let it make me feel bad.

"Isn't that the gayest thing you've ever read?" Kyle asked, snickering as Stan finished reading and stared down at it, disillusioned.

"I can't believe _Cartman _is getting married before anyone else. How is this possible?"

"Cartman was lucky enough to keep Wendy all to himself without anyone else worming their way into her heart and stealing her away," I said. "That's how."

By this point, the raw, slack-jawed disbelief evident in Stan's expression wasn't without warrant. I was being deliberately evil at that point, but sometimes the envy was so overwhelming it was all I could do to keep from physically destroying something. It was just so damn _unfair_.

"We could always be next," Kyle said, peeking up at Stan through his tuft of bangs. His smile was devious an unabashed, hope glinting beneath the surface. "It's legal in Colorado, you know."

My lungs seized up as Stan smiled down at him, eyes widening with the thrill of the idea. The fear that they might actually do something like _that _was so emotionally damaging I was suddenly nauseated, and I could feel the acids in my stomach begin to bubble and churn, burning like singed poison up my esophagus.

With nothing left to lose and my last drop of patience evaporated, I stomped my way toward the foyer, elbowing them apart. I slammed the door hard enough to make the etched glass window rattle.

The icy air bit at my nose as I slammed out the door. I automatically reached up to pull tight the drawstrings of my parka, but I had left it inside, and in the end I fumbled around my jeans pockets for my Marlboro's.

Stan stepped out just as I lit up. I pretended not to notice and blew the first puff into his face. He coughed and waved it away. I didn't apologize.

"Kenny, what's your problem?"

I Laughed. "Really, Stan? _Really_?" I took another long drag, this time looking down at my old doc martins, caked with recent mud. "Thought that'd be pretty fucking obvious."

Stan lingered a moment, not speaking, but staring so intensely it felt like my ears were ringing with it. I couldn't look at him. I'd see the hurt and the anger and the confusion and the helplessness; a mirror image of my feelings toward him. I'd never loved and hated anyone as fiercely as I did Stan. Cartman didn't count because my hate for him was more annoyance than malice.

Stan, though…

I _loathed_ him.

"You know something, Kenny?" Stan said, in that too understanding voice, crisp with compassion and drenched with regret.

I turned away and leaned my arms against the support railing of our tiny porch, overlooking the apartment complex's recreation room from three flights up. I was braced for another hippie-love lecture, a heartfelt speech about how our friendship is deeper than this and we should have overcome this years ago.

_God, Stan, don't you understand that I _hate _you? _

"You're a goddamned loathsome sonofabitch."

The ash collapsed from the end of my cigarette, as if it were as shocked as I was at the ferocity of the words. I looked back at him, over my shoulder. His normally sweet expression had been painted over with stony anger.

"That's right," he said, apparently reading my surprise. "The only reason I force myself to be civil to you is because Kyle is convinced you're still our friend."

I straightened and turned back toward him, my jaw set. "I'm still _his_-"

"Don't be such a dumb ass," he snapped. "If you were really Kyle's friend, you'd have a lot more respect for his relationships. You think you're going to tear us apart and then clean up all the pieces for him, but you're only kidding yourself. Kyle will never leave me, and if he ever did, it wouldn't be for _you._"

"I'm not-"

"Bullshit!" He fired. A white Shitsu began barking in a neighboring window.

I opened my mouth again, and his eyes flashed.

"Stop touching him, Kenny. Stop flirting, stop sneering at me whenever I go near him like a fucking annoying, ankle-biting bitch. Kyle is _not _yours, he never has been, and he never will be. If you don't cut the bullshit, I'll-"

"What?" I snarled, flicking my cigarette into the provided ash tray above the concrete garbage can and moving closer to him. "You'll do what?"

"Pack mine and Kyle's things and take him as far away from you as I can."

My pulse redoubled, the fear of his threat gripping me although I tried to pretend it didn't. "Kyle wouldn't leave. He… he loves it here. There's no way he'd just…" My voice was weakening, and Stan seemed to have sensed it.

"I've already talked to him about it. He told me that if I felt like we needed space from everyone, he would follow me anywhere I wanted to go. Even back to South Park."

I didn't speak. The reality of possibly losing Kyle was a nightmare I never wanted to be stuck in.

"He loves me, Kenny." Stan said, sharply. "Stop trying to fuck with that. On top of being cruel, it's just plain pathetic. You're supposed to be his friend. You're supposed to be _mine._"

I snorted. "That ship has already sailed and sunk."

"By _your _torpedo, not mine," he said. The words were softer, and damn if I didn't feel a little part of myself burning with remorse.

Because he was right. He was _right. _Stan had never done anything to hurt me. Nothing but take Kyle from me. Only that wasn't fair, because Kyle never truly was mine. And because I had told Stan I understood, that I wouldn't fault him for it.

I didn't realize at the time of my promise that I would never be able to keep it. Kyle was completely beneath my skin, and I couldn't deal. I didn't want to be fair because nothing was fair. Why should Stan get everything?

"The crazy thing," Stan went on, sounding slightly hysterical as he voiced his irony. "The really fucked up thing? If not for Kyle, you and I would have boned each other senseless by now, if not actually been together."

Right again, and it was pissing me the hell off. "In your dre-"

"Oh, shut up, Kenny! You know it's true!" He snapped. "I care about you a lot, but I'm not going to just sit back and watch you try again and again to tempt Kyle away from me! It's completely disrespectful and I won't tolerate it anymore. If you want to spend every second obsessing over something that's never going to happen, if you can't move the fuck on with your life, if you can't ever be my friend again, then that's all on you. But if you don't learn to at least outwardly respect our relationship, then I am transferring as far away from you as I can possibly get, and you can bet your ass Kyle will follow me without hesitation."

Before I could even begin to digest the vengeance Stan had just spooned at me, Kyle burst through the door, wide-eyed and breathless.

"Stan, it's your mom. Shelly's having her baby."

Confusion passed over Stan's face as he regarded the phone Kyle was holding out to him.

"Her Baby? But its-"

"Too early," said Kyle. "exactly."

Stan snatched the phone and disappeared inside, firing questions at 1000 kilos a second. Kyle's eyes met mine briefly, then he darted back through the door.

I hesitated on the spot and then turned my back and leaned over the railing again. Spitefully, I wondered why Kyle cared so much about Shelly's kid. The world didn't need another human with Marsh blood anyway.

* * *

XXX

A/N: Yeah, Kenny IS supposed to be kind of dick-ish right now. He's heartbroken STILL after all these years. He's bitter.

Please note that the baby is not a significant plot point. Something ELSE happens.

PLEASE REVIEW!

-BC3


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